


Ask Answers from my Tumblr

by pillage_and_lute



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: ADHD Jaskier, Among Us, Angst, Bodyswap, Book! Geralt, Christmas, Curly! Geralt, Fae Jaskier | Dandelion, Flower Crowns, Fluff, Gen, Geralt's birthday, Horse Girl Geralt, Internet Friends, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Mistletoe, Modern AU, Plague, Smitten Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wingfic, assorted short works, cervitaur jaskier, clumsy witchers, geralt infodumps
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 36,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27750076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pillage_and_lute/pseuds/pillage_and_lute
Summary: Does what the title says.
Relationships: Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 96
Kudos: 170





	1. Horse Girl Geralt

**Author's Note:**

> "A concept: Jaskier finally gets to visit Kaer Morhen, and it's this big keep full of mystery and intrigue so he's imagining Geralt's chambers as a somber place befitting a warrior. And he gets there and, like, Geralt The Horse Girl is a Horse Girl and it is covered wall to wall in Ye Olde Horse Posters and a quilt Eskel made for him with a horse on it and a bunch of novels of knight adventure stories and Jaskier has to hide the surprise so as not to be a dick."
> 
> Request from @thenameislion-dandelion on tumblr

“Are…are all these pictures of Roach?”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt was lying face down on the rather nice and clearly handmade comforter on his bed, obviously exhausted from the trip. Jaskier too was so tired he could scarcely feel his feet, much less stay on them, but there were more pressing matters on his mind.

Like the decor.

The keep of Kaer Morhen was wild and fierce, like something out of the best, most romantic adventure stories, and the brave and good hearted (if sometimes rather smelly) inhabitants only fed the inspiration. He knew his friend lived a rather spartan life on the road, often only having nice things at all because Jaskier lovingly bullied him into a hot bath and a warm bed. So naturally, he had been expecting something useful but sparing in his room. 

He hadn’t been expecting…clutter. There really wasn’t any other way to put it. Two whole walls were full of shelves littered with books and knickknacks. The table, or perhaps desk, although it had two chairs by it, had bits and bobs too. The walls also had paintings. Most of them were done by a clumsy but careful hand, but they were all, or almost all of horses. Most of them depicted Roach. Roach in the snow, Roach in a stable. A horse who looked a lot like Roach free of tack and running wildly through some grass. Everything in the room seemed to be about horses, it was something of a theme.

Geralt got up and began to shuck off his armor. Jaskier saw the quilt.

“That’s… er, Geralt, that’s a very nice quilt, did someone make it for you?” It had a horse, outlined in bits of material. The sort of blanket his nursemaid when he was a boy would have called a crazy quilt. It really was pretty good, although the stitching in a few places left something to be desired.

“Eskel,” Geralt said, his voice muzzy with sleep. “You tir’d yet?” 

Jaskier was, but he wanted to explore the room more. 

“I’ll sleep in a little bit, you get some rest, I’ll just do some reading…” he trailed off but it didn’t seem to matter, Geralt was already in bed, and a moment later a soft, rumbling snore began. Jaskier lit a candle and blew out the lamp by Geralt’s bed. There was a horshoe on the nightstand, carefully polished. 

Melitele’s tits.

Jaskier picked a book at random off the shelf and flipped it open. It appeared to be some story about a freelance knight. The words ‘noble steed’ somehow seemed to feature on every page. Jaskier put it back and grabbed another.

A story on a similar vein, although in an epic poem. The dialect was old, Eschenbachian, if Jaskier, master of the liberal arts and professor of poetry and music, was any judge. It was also an adventure tale, although the narrator got a little preachy about how to be a chivalrous knight in some parts. There was also a fair bit about how important horses were to knights.

Jaskier glanced up at Geralt, sleeping peacefully. His own righteous hero. Although he wasn’t half so courtly and poetic as the knights in these stories. Jaskier pulled the candle closer and settled in to read Parzival. 

And all the horse decor? Well, it just went to show…you never can tell.


	2. Smitten Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello , i am currently feeding both of our procrastination. What about geralt and jaskier have apologies, been forgiven and jaskier spend his first winter in the keep. How would the brothers react to the fond look and the pining not of jaskier they don'tr know him but of geralt. Eskel and Lambert teaming agaknst geralt, some family bickering. Have a nice day and tale Care of yourself. (Sorry for the mistake, french lad hère)
> 
> From an Anon on Tumblr

Eskel flopped onto the bench in the training yard, sweat beading on his brow despite the cool air. He slumped over, onto Lambert, who pushed him off, onto the ground.

“Head up,” Lambert hissed. “Somethings off about Geralt.”

Eskel looked up, concerned. Something was indeed off. Geralt was simply going through sword drills, but there was something funny in the motions. They were…showier, almost florid. Someone unfamiliar with swordsmanship and the White Wolf’s fighting style might not have noticed, but Geralt’s brothers watched with keen eyes.

He was showing off.

But for who? They’d known Geralt all their lives, and it was no use showing off for Vesemir. Then…

Eskel’s eyes lit on the bard, and he knew that he and Lambert had come to the same conclusion at almost exactly the same time because Lambert let out a soft, “oooh.”

They looked at one another. Their brother had a crush, and they were going to make his life hell.

At dinner the bard begged for stories, and the wolves felt rather proud to see the way he clung to every detail, then he finally pestered Geralt into telling a story and it looked as though the rest of the world didn’t exist to the bard.

It was odd enough that Geralt was letting more than two sentences together out of his mouth, but he was telling about one of his contracts that put him in a heroic light. He was a modest bastard at the best of times, but now he slowly spun out the tale of a contract gone wrong, him fighting a mountain troll with nothing but his bare hands to save a mother and her young child. It was…rather masterful really. He was sparing with the details, so that Jaskier leaned in and begged for more of the story, eyes getting wider with each word.

That wouldn’t do. As the story wrapped up Lambert bounced a chicken bone off of Geralt’s head. “Tell him ‘bout the other time you fought a troll, yeah?” It had been maybe Geralt’s third year on the path. He had lost one of his swords and gotten covered in troll shit, then gotten run out of the village by people who thought, covered in mud as he was, that he was the troll.

Normally Geralt told the story with ill humor, but as Jaskier begged for this new story he told it lightly, still letting the bard drag the finishing touches from him. When Jaskier threw his head back and laughed at Geralt’s misfortune, something in their brother’s yellow eyes shone.

He was in deeper than they’d thought.


	3. Internet Friends? More like neighbors/trapped in an elevator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "geraskier Internet friends(?) au"
> 
> request from @llamasdumpsterfire on Tumblr  
> It kinda got away from me.

It started with Yennefer. Everything in Jaskier’s life (usually the bad bits) seemed to start with Yennefer. He loved her, she was his best friend and the best verbal sparring partner he’d ever had, but after a night out, she always had the best ideas. In the sober light of morning, covered in glitter and (once) in a jail cell, her ideas were the worst.

This time it started with Yennefer asking if her friend could join the Among Us game. Jaskier didn’t have any objections.

“White is kinda sus,” Jaskier said a few minutes later.

“Shut up, Buttercup, you’re only saying that to distract from the fact that I caught you venting.” Yennefer was the black crewmate. She was also right.

“I’m just saying,” Jaskier said into his mic while popping open a soda. “He hasn’t said a single word all game. Anyway, what kind of a nickname is Wolf?”

“Hmmm.”

It was like the rumble of a god, the sort of god that gets carved out of marble.

“Holy fuck who was that?”

“Me,” said the wolf, in that same beautiful, gravelly voice. Jaskier almost spit out his soda. He leaned towards his computer, fluttering his eyelashes although no one could see.

“Well hellooooo wolfie,” he said.

“Hmmm. Yen’s right. Vote yellow.”

Jaskier watched his crewmate spiral into space.

Yennefer sent him Wolf- Geralt’s -number. He sent a quick text as he microwaved dinner. 

“So Wolfie, do they call you that because you growl?”

No reply as he ate the microwave dinner at his tiny, crappy table, in his tiny, crappy apartment. He was getting really tired of eating this shit, too. He went to check the mail.

Jaskier prided himself on looking his best. On workdays. Or going out. Going to get the mail? Not so much. Except there, in the elevator, was Jaskier’s stupid apartment building crush, His neighbor, who he shared a bedroom wall with, who was relentlessly sexy, who always seemed to be in the elevator at the same time. Shit.

Pure white hair at, what, probably twenty six? Twenty seven? He didn’t look old though, he looked kind of timeless. Like a demigod. If Hercules hadn’t been Greek he would have like that. The man gave Jaskier a beautiful, tiny smile, slightly lopsided, almost a smirk, really except it didn’t look mean. His canine, barely visible was slightly more pointed. 

~Fang~ Jaskier thought faintly. He blushed and nodded and wished he wasn’t in grey sweatpants. 

Oh shit. The grey sweatpants. Without underwear. Ohnononoonohnohnohono. He hoped his sexy neighbor didn’t think he was a creep. 

The man brought his arms up and put his hair into a man bun. Jaskier watched the way his arms flexed in his tight black t shirt. Maybe he was a creep. Then his sexy neighbor dragged the hair tie from his wrist with his teeth. 

Jaskier made a squeaking noise, sure his knees were about to buckle. A pale hazel, almost golden gaze was turned on him.

Just then the elevator, jittery at the best of times, made an ominous creaking noise and jolted to a stop. 

Jaskier and his neighbor locked eyes. Then the lights went out.

Jaskier leapt for the emergency button and the red emergency light came on. It was kind of sexy, in a red-LED-lights-in-a-dorm-room way. Jaskier would know, he’d graduated just last year. He was trying very hard not to think about the tiny space he was trapped in.

He hated small spaces.

His neighbor, who only looked better in the red light, was frantically texting someone. He seemed to send one text and then open another. He cocked his head.

Puppy. Jaskier thought. It was better than thinking about the death trap elevator. Sexy Neighbor sent a short text. Not a second later Jaskier’s phone vibrated. They locked eyes.

Jaskier looked at his phone. A response from Yennefer’s friend, Geralt. 

“No,” it read.

“Wolfie?” Jaskier said.

The sexy neighbor’s sexy eyebrows raised. 

“Geralt,” he said. The voice was spine tingling in person.

Jaskier surrupticiously swiped a sweaty palm across his sweatpants before sticking his hand out to shake. 

“Jaskier, its nice to meet you.” They shook hands. His grip could crack a boulder, but it was gentle somehow. “So,” Jaskier said, mouth dry. “Quite the coincidence. How do you know Yennefer?”

Geralt opened his mouth but the elevator rocked suddenly, the emergency light flickering. Jaskier sank down the wall and whimpered.

Geralt was there, crossing the elevator in a half step and kneeling by Jaskier. 

“Are, are you claustrophobic?”

Jaskier nodded, his breathing fast and uneven. Geralt smelled really good, part of him thought. The rest of him was focusing on the black spots forming in his vision as the panic took hold. 

Geralt sat and pulled Jaskier close, holding him back to chest in his lap.

“Take deep breaths with me, its okay. In,” a pause. “And out. In. And out.” His voice was so calming, he could do ASMR videos, Jaskier thought, lack of oxygen making his head fuzzy. It was a shame he couldn’t seem to do as Geralt said.

The elevator jolted again. Jaskier fainted.

He awoke dead, probably. Geralt was shirtless and staring down at him. No, still in the elevator but lying down now, with something soft under his head. Geralt’s t-shirt most likely.

Geralt brushed some of Jaskier’s hair from his eyes. 

“Oh good,” he rumbled. “You were only out for a moment.” Jaskier sat up slowly and Geralt pulled his shirt back on. Pity. 

“The light’s back on,” Geralt said, looking at him so caringly Jaskier could have wept. “I think that’s a good sign, but there’s no signal on my phone, not enough for a call.”

Jaskier nodded, trying to relax his breathing. He couldn’t talk. Being speechless was almost as bad as small spaces.

“You, um, asked how I know Yennefer,” Geralt said. There was something desperate in his voice, and Jaskier suspected he didn’t like talking this much but wanted to keep him calm.

“I met her when she was helping move her friend in.”

“What?” Jaskier found his voice. “When she helped me move in? Really?” He’d been complaining to Yennefer about the unfairly beautiful man next door for almost two months, and shed known?

“You’re Buttercup?” Geralt said, tilting his head in that baffled puppy look again. 

“Only when she’s annoyed at me.”

“I’ve been complaining about you for months,” Geralt said.

“You complain about me?” Jaskier didn’t think he was that bad a neighbor. To his surprise, Geralt blushed.

“Not exactly complain, more like…” Geralt sighed and slid his phone over. It was a sent text to Yen.

Yen you have to help me, he’s in the elevator and he’s gorgeous. He’s in these tight sweatpants, Yen. And his hair is all messy like he’s been running his hands through it. Like somebody’s been running their hands through it. Sweet Jesus Yen he isn’t wearing underwear and I would not be able to make eyecontact if he spoke to me Jesus I’m a creep. I’m trapped in the elevator with the prettiest man ever.

Jaskier looked up, grinning widely. The elevator shuddered to life and began it’s slow descent. “That was quite the panic text. But I’ve been sending her very similar voice messages about you.”

Geralt grinned sheepishly. “So you don’t think I’m a creep?” he said.

Jaskier shook his head.

Geralt winced. “Will you think I’m a creep if I tell you I’ve been going down to check my mail when I hear your door open? I kept wanting to ask you out but I was so nervous…”

He trailed off when Jaskier leaned in.

“Kiss me, please, wolfie?”

Jaskier got a kiss.

There were firefighters as they exited the elevator, as well as the building manager, looking pannicky, but they answered a couple questions and took the stairs back up to their apartments.

“So why are you called Wolf?”

Geralt grinned, somewhat salaciously and opened the door to his apartment. “Wanna see?” 

Jaskier took his hand as Geralt lead him back to his bedroom. His pulse kicked up. Geralt smiled back at him, that same grin, that same heart-stopping hint of fang and…

On the bed was the largest wolf plushy Jaskier had ever seen.

“My Goddaughter won it and gave it to me at a fair the day I met Yennefer.”

“He’s pretty cute, for a wolf,” Jaskier said. He wasn’t looking at the plushy.

———————————————————————————————————–

What did you think? It really ran away from me and I know it wasn’t really what you asked for so if you’d like me to give an internet friends AU another go let me know.


	4. Geralt Infodumps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He is subtle about it as to not scare Geralt away, but Jaskier is always looking for ways to let Geralt info dump about the things he enjoys like Gwent or monster related things. Jaskier just really enjoys seeing Geralt passionate about his interests, and it makes him happy to see Geralt happy 💛"
> 
> Request from 💛 Anon on Tumblr

Geralt doesn’t talk. 

It’s like pulling teeth for the barest details, and it’s so obviously not natural to him. Jaskier can tell there is something that wants to talk, it’s in the twitch of Geralt’s jaw when Jaskier gets a monster fact wrong on purpose, or the twitch of a muscle when an alderman tells a clearly fake description.

Geralt wants to talk about monsters. 

But he doesn’t.

Jaskier talks about everything, all the time. He talks about his special interests, which are, largely, anything he can see, touch, hear, or think. Geralt just has the one special interest, but it has all sorts of little branches. Jaskier want’s to hear about all of it, but he starts small.

“Geralt, why is silver important for killing monsters?”

“Kills ‘em better,” Geralt grunts from across the fire.

“Why?” Jaskier could do this all day. He was going to chase the info from Geralt wether he wanted it or not, and he clearly wanted it. He seemed…edgy however. He let the next words from his mouth one at a time, as if counting them.

“silver…is kind of magic, its in mirrors, it can be charged by the moon, you see?” something shimmered in Geralt’s eyes but it was shaded and nervous. “it reacts with the magic in certain monsters.” 

Jaskier would kill to see that light in Geralt’s eyes all the time but it was clear that Geralt was reluctant. This would need careful handling.

“I’m writing a song you see,” Jaskier said, “or perhaps not, if it doesn’t turn out any good, about a werewolf and a fae falling in love. So you see, I need to know about silver and iron, and their properties, desperately.”

Geralt spoke like an avalanche, a few small snowballs, hesitant words turning into rumbling sentences. Then all at once the dam broke, snow cascaded down the mountain, and Jaskier bathed in the warmth of Geralt’s passion for all things monster hunting.

After that first success Jaskier actively searched for opportunities to hear Geralt dump his information on him. It was enjoyable, even if Jaskier didn’t understand more than half of it, and the information for his songs was wonderful. Best of all was Geralt’s glow and exciement. 

It was a sly word slipped in in a tavern, needling him about venoms.

It was a plea for information for a poem that resulted in an enjoyable half hour talking about talons versus pouncers.

Months passed and eventually it was every day. It wasn’t equal and never would be, Jaskier chattered all the time and he wouldn’t change the way they were for the world. Because about once a day Geralt would…infodump. That was the best word for it. Over breakfast or laying on bedrolls before sleep for a half hour or so, information would stream past Jaskier’s ears about monsters or techniques, and Geralt would talk.


	5. Autistic Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "if you’re taking requests, could you maybe do some geraskier where either geralt’s autistic or jaskier has adhd? i love your work"
> 
> Request from a lovely Anon on Tumblr

Geralt was in hell.

The city market was bright and loud with too many people and smells and things going on. It was too much and he wanted to leave.

“You’re doing the face again,” Jaskier said. He didn’t take Geralt’s hand, which was good, there was so much going on already, except Geralt would have liked the comfort, just not the touch at the moment. 

“The one that looks grumpy, but doesn’t match the inside. It’s too much, right? Let’s go back to the inn.”

“You wanted to go to the market,” Geralt said, following Jaskier into a side alley anyway.

“No,” Jaskier said, smiling. “I needed new shoes and I wanted to spend time with you. I have my shoes, and we can go back to the inn and cuddle with the lights off,”

That sounded good. That sounded so nice right now. Even in the alley there was so much happening, smells and sounds drifted in from the market. Jaskier slipped a piece of smooth leather into his hand.

There were some textures Geralt really liked, but some textures he couldn’t stand. It wasn’t just witcher senses, it wasn’t only that everything was always too much, but the feeling of a damp sponge made him feel physically sick. Leather though, he liked that. He liked the smell and feel of Roach’s tack. Stroking a finger over her bridle always calmed him. 

Jaskier had noticed this, and had little strips of leather, like palm-sized pieces of reigns or bridles, made for Geralt. This one was dark brown, almost black, and he curled his hand around it, rubbing his thumb as Jaskier led him back into the light and through the city to the inn.

Their room was dimly lit, dusty light filtered through thin curtains. It was a relief after the…the muchness, the too muchness of the market. Jaskier kicked off his boots and lay on his side on the bed.

Geralt didn’t get social cues well, if at all, but this one was routine, a habit. And a while ago Jaskier had explained that when he lay like that and reached out a hand he was offering to hold Geralt. 

Geralt curled up, face in Jaskier’s chest, exhausted even though it was only noon.

Jaskier understood. He also didn’t always get social cues, and he could get over, or worse, understimulated too. Jaskier, though, had learned social cues. He needed people to like him so badly that it hurt when they didn’t so he’d learned social cues and courtly graces. Geralt didn’t care, and was fine going against the grain. He also understood Jaskier’s hummingbird mind, the way they both could focus in so tightly on topics that interested them. 

Jaskier needed movement or interest all the time, the same way Geralt needed a familiar texture after some place like the market. If Jaskier wasn’t tapping or fidgeting then his brain was going so fast Geralt could almost see steam coming from his ears.

Right now Jaskier was fidgeting though, fingers running through Geralt’s hair in a pattern. One, two, three strokes. Pause. One, two strokes. Pause. One, two, three again.

They both liked pattern. They both hated routines but they needed them. Needed someone to listen about the things they loved. Monsters and monster hunting for Geralt, history, poetry, and art for Jaskier. 

They fit together, not like two shoes, the same but mirrored, but like salt and pepper, different compliments. Maybe they weren’t like everyone else, but that would have been boring anyway. 

Then Geralt slipped into meditation.


	6. Wingfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Have you ever thought about wingfic, not in any monster context just ,, people with wings. Geralt having his stripped of pigment the same as his hair and Jaskier's always being a dull brown he uses colourful clothes to distract from. Or if none of that, may I supply the weird closeness of mutual wing preening in this trying time"
> 
> Request from Anon on Tumblr

“Geralt, what is in your wing.”

“Hmmm.”

“No, nope. Absolutely not, none of that. Put down the sword, it is sharp enough. You are getting groomed.”

“No, Jaskier.”

“Don’t witchers preen eachother?” 

Geralt finally set down his sword. “Yes,” he said. “Just witchers.”

“Are my weak human hands going to get rid of the special witchery magic?” Jaskier said. He flicked his wing out so the tip caught the back of Geralt’s head.

“No, it’s…you can help me groom if you really want to.”

Jaskier sat eagerly and ran his fingers through the feathers. Geralt shivered a little and the feathers fluffed up.

“Oh,” Jaskier said. There was no color. He knew the wings were white but usually there was at least some variation in tone. All the way down to the skin, which was paler than it ought to be. 

“You’re albino?”

“Just the wings.”

Jaskier continued his task. After a minute he said, “It’s guts in here you know. You have guts. In. Your. Wings. Geralt that is so gross you really owe me.”

“You insisted.”

And Jaskier had, that was true but still. Gross. He flicked a piece of something away.

“You should help me preen,” he said. 

“Why?”

“It’s nice,” he ran his fingers along the downy under feathers, straightening them, a few crumpled ones falling away. “It’s a bonding experience, between friends.”

“It’s weird.”

“You have yellow eyes and get twitchy around spiders,” Jaskier said.

“They have too many legs,” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier wiped the snowy wings down with a damp cloth and petted over them a few more times, just to spread the natural oils around. Then he dug his thumbs in, hard, to the twin lines of flight muscles on either side of Geralt’s spine.

“Hurrrghmphf,” Geralt said, folding forward like a puppet.

“Feels good, right?” Jaskier said. Geralt didn’t respond but his body was nicely limp and so the bard simply continued working the knots and tension from the muscles. 

It took a finger numbing half hour, but eventually Geralt lay, face turned to one side, belly down in the grass. His wings were spread out flat and he was as close to a puddle of witcher as they can generally get.

“All better?” Jaskier asked. 

“Hmmmm,” Geralt said.

It was nearly a purr.


	7. Deaged Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did you want the plot ideas to be on the heavy or on the light side? If heavy: Jaskier accidentally gets sent back in time to before the attack on te Kaer and struggles with the choice of changing things(if he even can) or not, so as to preserve the timeline. If light: ...(damn having issues with this one) Jaskier's de-aged and the whole kaer is afraid they'll scare the kid, but jaskier saw witchers as heroes even as a child. Que blushing witchers while jaskier is all star-struck."
> 
> Request from @anders-s on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: child abuse and neglect, mentioned child death

“Geralt,” Yennefer said. “You know how I’m a very powerful sorceress who is still healing from Sodden and also your very good friend and important ally?”

“That’s a mouthful,” Geralt said. Ciri was destroying him easily in Gwent and he was thankful for the distraction. Then he saw the look on Yen’s face. “What did you do.”

She stepped aside.

There was a child, maybe six, wearing one of Jaskier’s chemises. He had one hand buried in her skirt and was holding on tight, as if she were his mother.

“What…”

He didn’t get to finish, because the child was walking over to Vesemir, tugging Yennefer by the skirt. 

“Excuuuse me mister,” he said through one gap tooth. “Are you a witcher? Because some day I’m going to meet a whole lot of witchers and write all stories ‘bout them.”

“Jaskier?”

The boy turned very big blue eyes on him.

“Papa says I’m not allowed to be called Jaskier, he says Jaskier is silly and I hafta be Julian.”

“Do…do you want to be Julian?” Geralt asked, dumbfounded.

“Nuh-uh,” mini-Jaskier said. “But mummy called me Julek sometimes, so that one’s okay.”

Geralt looked from Jas-Julek to Yennefer, then back to the kid, then back to Yennefer.

“You turned my boyfriend into a… how old are you, Julek.” The boy held out one hand, fingers splayed.

“I’m five and a half, and papa said that if I’m good and don’t make trouble I can listen to the minstrels for my sixth birthday.”

“He’s so cute!” Ciri squealed, forgetting their Gwent game. “I get to be his big sister!”

Lambert grinned like the cat that got the cream. “Uncle Lambert has a nice ring to it.”

Eskel nodded. “I could get used to Uncle Eskel.”

“No, no no no,” hissed Geralt. “That would imply that I’m his daddy–father.” He caught himself too late.

“I dunno Geralt, what do you like Jaskier to call you in bed?” Lambert grinned evilly.

“Not around little ears,” Vesemir snapped.

“Yup,” Ciri said. “My ears are little and I absolutely don’t know what sex is.”

“Miss Yennefer,” Julek said. “Are all of these men witchers?”

“Yes Julek,” she said. Her voice had a soft tone Geralt didn’t normally hear from her. Julek sank back against her legs, looking nervous. It was such a big difference to the bubbly countenance of before that the wolves drew back collectively.

He hadn’t seemed afraid of witchers before when he walked up to Vesemir, but now it practically radiated from him.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said. “Papa will be very angry and I’ll be sent to my room again.” There was more fear there than the threat of grounding should hold. Yennefer picked him up, tucking him close and coddling him gently.

“Does he often send you to your room?” she asked. 

“Only when I deserve it,” Julek whispered into her neck. The wolves of Kaer Morhen heard it anyway. 

“What do you do to deserve being sent to your room, Julek,” Yennefer coaxed.

“If I talk too loud, or go where I’m not suppos’d to, or if I talk to people papa doe’nt like,” he said, sounding tearful. “Then I go to my room an’ nobody visits or talks to me and I’m there all alone.” 

“How long, Julek?” Ciri asked, peering at him around Yennefer’s arm. 

“A week.”

Lambert had a face like a thunderclap, Eskel looked fierce, and Geralt’s heart was breaking. Ciri nearly had tears in her eyes. Vesemir just looked stony.

Geralt knew what he ws thinking of. Vesemir had just been a swordfighting instructor, not instrumental in the Trials. He’d even been known to read a scared boy to sleep, once in a while, but much worse abuse had been handed out within these walls, however, than a week’s solitary confinement. And Vesemir was in the keep year round, listening to all those ghosts.

“Your papa isn’t here,” Yennefer was saying. “Just us and these witchers and Ciri, so it’s okay, and you can talk to them.”

“Really?” the boy lifted a tear stained head. He practically leapt from Yennefer’s arms and right to Geralt.

“I have questions,” he said importantly. “And you should answer them because I’m going to write a book.” Eskel and Lambert were practically cooing, as Julek got his thoughts together.

“When will this wear off?” Geralt asked Yen.

“Probably by tomorrow,” she said. Ciri looked a little dissappointed.

“Excuuuse me,” Julek said. “This is very important. I’mma be a scho-scholar on witcherness.”

“Yes Geralt,” Vesemir said, mock sternly, lifting the little boy onto his knee like a doting grandfather. “No interrupting Professor Julek.”


	8. Clumsy Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So I have a prompt.... what if Witchers are extremely clumsy but they axii anyone who sees into forgetting. But then Geralt brings jask to kaer morhen and sees all there feirce apex predators triping over air and falling down stairs and slipping on little puddles, he's like wtf??"
> 
> Request from @permanently-exhausted-witcher on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t bring myself to make them Axii everyone all the time, it seemed too mean.

Geralt wasn’t even sure why he was bringing the bard along. He’d tagged onto Geralt in Posada and hadn’t left and now it was winter. The thing was, if Geralt left the idiot to his own device he’d sleep with the wrong person and get himself killed. Then Geralt wouldn’t see him again.

Geralt liked seeing the bard, he was cute. He was also not afraid of him. But now they were almost to Kaer Morhen and Geralt would have to explain things.

“Jaskier, have you ever seen a ballet dancer?”

“Of course, why?”

“You know,” Geralt said, edging carefully towards the point like a man near a cliff. “How they’re all graceful on stage?”

“That’s the whole point, Geralt, what’s up?”

“Have you ever seen them off stage?”

“Mmmhmm,” said Jaskier, fiddling with his mittens. “Clumsiest people I’ve ever met, also quite competitive, rather fierce really.”

Ah, here we go, Geralt thought.

“Yes, well, witchers are sort of like ballerinas.”

“Duh, Geralt. Graceful and fierce.”

“And…clumsy.”

“No! Really?” Jaskier was looking up at him with a face like sunshine. Oh gods. “Are you joking? Geralt tell me you aren’t joking! You’re clumsy?”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh Geralt, that’s brilliant! I can’t put it in a song though…really would ruin your image…hold on. Geralt, I’ve never seen you so much as trip.”

Oh gods, this was the tricky bit wasn’t it. And they were at the gates of Kaer Morhen too. He could see Lambert and Eskel standing at the doorway.

“You have…”he said. “You just sort of got…axiied out of it.”

“You’ve been axiing me?” Jaskier shrieked. “For eight months?!”

“Not on purpose,” Geralt said, making vaguely calming, flapping motions with his hands. “It’s kind of built in. The mutagens made us clumsy, but if word got out…well its embarassing, and it makes us easy tagets, so the axii is kind of…built in.”

His shoulders slumped hopelessly. 

“So I’m going to be axiied constantly all winter?” Jaskier looked panicky.

“No,” Vesemir said, from behind them. Jaskier leapt into the air. “It doesn’t work if you bathe in the waters from the baths here, we could hardly keep axiing our brothers accidentally.” Then he threw a bucket of the mineral water over Jaskier’s head without ceremony.

“Melitele’s great sopping cu-”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Vesemir said, sticking out a hand and cutting of Jaskier’s startled cursing. “My name is Vesemir.”

Jaskier, shaking and soaking wet, shook his hand.

Lambert and Eskel came running towards them across the icy courtyard. Geralt, equally happy to see them jogged forward. Then Eskel slipped on an icy patch, slid into Lambert, and both of them bowled into Geralt. The three slid to a stop, mere inches from Vesemir and Jaskier in a tangle of limbs. Vesemir reached down to pick up his boys, took a wrong step, got his feet tangled up in themselves, and fell onto the pile of wriggling witchers. 

Jaskier howled with laughter.

A week later Geralt was walking along with Jaskier back to their rooms, situated handily beside eachother. Jaskier paused at his door and kissed Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt walked into a wall.


	9. Body Swap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay but hear me out: Geralt and Jaskier magic shenanigan bodyswap"  
> Request from an Anon on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this get’s a little horny because I like embarrassing the boys until they talk about their feelings.

“Three sorceresses, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “Three of them, one of them the Rectoress of Aretuza, and you just had to go and get stroppy with them.”

“Hmmm.”

“How long is this going to last?” Jaskier said with Geralt’s voice. “And don’t growl like that, you’ll damage my vocal cords.”

“Probably not more than a day,” Geralt said. He was seated. Despite Jaskier’s body being only an inch shorter than Geralt’s usual form, the bard seemed to be mostly legs. When Geralt had tried walking the gait, so different from his own, had tripped him up, he’d gotten tangled in his own legs, then fallen over. 

Jaskier was having better luck, but he wouldn’t stop…touching.

“How are you so fucking broad? Geralt you’re just beefy everywhere. Your hands look like dinner plates, Melitele’s bouncing great bosom I could never play the lute like this.” 

This was all said with Jaskier running his hands enthusiastically across his-Geralt’s- chest, occasionally giving the muscles a squeeze. 

“And these senses! I can see everything, it’s so clear and amazing and I want it to be a wonderful poetic experienced but damn! I have a headache.”

Jaskier slumped down next to Geralt, except he misjudged the distance, used to slimmer hips, and sat firmly in Geralt’s lap. 

To Geralt’s horror, his body, or, Jaskier’s rather, reacted immediately. He felt flushed and hot and his blood was rushing south rather faster than his usual body ever managed. Well, Jaskier was a young man so of course his body might…react. Geralt desperately thought of anything else.

Jaskier, for his part, was wriggling away, which was supremely unhelpful but eventually he did get off Geralt’s lap. Unfortunately, Geralt had gotten a whiff of Jaskier’s scent, except it was his own, dulled through human senses, and Jaskier’s body seemed to have some sort of pavlovian response to that.

He was blushing. That was horrible. Jaskier’s skin was so fair and Geralt could feel it, hot and red and Jaskier…

Jaskier was blushing too. 

It was so difficult to tell with Geralt’s body, but he knew the signs, could see the hint of pink at the tips of his own ears.

“I’m um…” Jaskier said, and the timid tone sounded wrong in Geralt’s typical growl. “I’m going to see you naked.”

“You’ve seen me naked before,” Geralt said, trying so hard not to think about seeing himself naked right now. He had seen Jaskier naked before too, of course, but this would be different.

“Yeah, well,” Jaskier said, scrunching up his nose. It was an expression so patently Jaskier that seeing it was oddly calming, even if it was on Geralt’s face. “It will be different because you really need a bath, and I’ll be doing the washing.”

“You’ve washed me before,” and oooh those memories were not helping matters.

“It’s still different,” Jaskier said. It was. 

“I, um,” Geralt said, unsure what he actually wanted to say. “I don’t mind.”

“You’re blushing,” Jaskier said. 

“It’s your face, it gets blushy easily,” Geralt whined, which was effective in Jaskier’s voice, but didn’t affect the actual issue. 

‘Yeah,” Jaskier said quietly. “You do have that effect.”

They looked at one another, which was weird, looking into your own eyes, but then Jaskier leaned forward, and Geralt found he was leaning in too. 

Their lips met.

Sparks flew, literally. Magic swirled around them and Geralt was so relieve to flick a piece of white hair from his own face.

“Geralt,” Jaskier was saying. Geralt looked into his clear eyes. “Geralt, did, did you get a stiffy?”

Geralt’s ears turned pink and he looked away.

“Was your body, anyway,” he pouted. Jaskier kissed him again, and then they both went off to…fix the problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop! and a fade to black for our disaster boys.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hi it’s like two in the morning and I saw you have requests going so here we are.
> 
> Consider
> 
> Jaksier makes Geralt a flower crown."
> 
> Request from @cabbage-with-legs on Tumblr

It was a soft, lazy day. 

Geralt had finished a hunt but the monster had slammed him heavily against a tree. The town healer had said his sternum had separated, for a normal person this would take perhaps a month to heal, longer if they laughed or did physical activity.

It would be a much shorter amount of time for Geralt, and he didn’t laugh often. Jaskier was also fiercely keeping Geralt form any physical activity. They had ridden from town, well, Geralt riding, Jaskier walking. Then they had made it an hour from the town when Jaskier had seen a wide, sunny field and insisted on stopping. 

Geralt had tried to simply keep riding, but Roach, the traitor, had stopped firm. 

So here they were. Geralt was laying in the sun, armor off and shirt unbuttoned down below his bruised sternum, with his head in Jaskier’s lap. 

Jaskier, for his part, was chatting happily about poetry he’d read, or heard, or wanted to write, or had written, about flowers. The field was full of flowers and had given light to Jaskier’s butterfly mind. He had also gently rubbed some of the truly foul ointment the healer had given him onto Geralt’s chest. It tingled but his chest didn’t hurt.

Now, though, his hands were occupied not, as Geralt thought rather poutily that they should be, playing with his hair. He was playing with flowers.

It didn’t really matter. The day was warm and Jaskier’s lap was a lovely place to be and Geralt dozed.

Perhaps more than a quarter of an hour later Jaskier carefully lifted Geralt’s head and the witcher cracked one yellow eye. Jaskier pressed something onto his head.

Geralt sat up, sternum protesting only a little. Butter-yellow globe flowers and tiny buttercups had been twined together into a ring. A crown. It was a flower crown. Geralt thought about protesting, considered if it would actually change anything, considered then if he actually wanted the crown taken off, and didn’t protest.

He laid back down, careful not to squish the delicate flowers. He looked up into Jaskier’s eyes, they always reflected what he was wearing, but Jaskier was just in his white chemise, so today his eyes seemed to have decided that he was wearing the sky, They were so, so blue, framed by dark lashes. 

“You should make yourself one,” Geralt said. He thought for a moment. “Larkspur and forget-me-nots.”


	11. Geralt's 100th Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Prompt/Idea: Jaskier gets curious, does some questioning & calculating, and figures out Geralt just turned (or is about to turn) 100! What does he do with this information? Celebration? Teasing? Both? Other? :)"
> 
> Request from an Anon on Tumblr

“Been a while since I heard that one, lad,” Vesemir said, leaning back in his chair.

After dinners at Kaer Morhen the witchers mostly just lounged around, listening to Jaskier play and playing gwent. This was in response to an old folk tune Jaskier had just played, it was one of his favorites, he’d written a paper on it.

“I remember when that one came out,” Vesemir continued thoughtfully. “It was the year before Geralt’s twentieth birthday, and the whole keep was humming it. Drove Geralt nuts.”

Geralt had gone to bed early that night, after having a bout of insomnia the few days previous.

“Oh yeah,” Eskel said. “For his birthday five or six of us got together and sang it for him, followed him ‘round the halls.”

Vesemir chuckled into his mulled wine. “Ended with him giving you boys quite the wallop, if I remember.”

“Yeah,” Lambert said, rubbing the back of his head as if remembering. “It did.”

Jaskier felt they had rather skipped the important part of the conversation.

“Geralt has a birthday? He told me he didn’t know when it was.”

Lambert cackled while Eskel said, “That’s beause he hates it, and witchers don’t really celebrate birthdays, they lose their appeal after eighty or so, but it’s in a week… to the day, actually.”

“But,” Jaskier said, thinking back to his essay on the folk song and doing some quick math, “This year is his hundredth birthday.”

There was a short pause then, “Aye, you’re right, lad, a whole century.”

Jaskier had plans to make. 

Geralt was a little worried. Jaskier had been acting odd the past week, hiding away, barely showing up, coming to bed late, and instead of his usual cheerful chatter, he wouldn’t tell Geralt what was up. 

Geralt knew Kaer Morhen couldn’t compare to Jaskier’s usual winters, cozy and full of life at Oxenfurt with art and intellect all around. Four grumpy witchers in a drafty ruin just couldn’t compare. Geralt had fallen asleep without him last night.

Jaskier was gone from their bed that morning by the time Geralt woke up. He didn’t pass anyone in the halls, although the keep was a big place. He made his way to great hall. It was dark, all the torches had been put out. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

The cheer echoed on the walls and Eskel’s expert magic cast igni to every torch. More importantly, it lit every candle on a huge cake.

The number of candles on it made it look more like a bonfire.

“Happy birthday, my love,” Jaskier said, looping his arms around Geralt’s neck and giving him a kiss that was only slightly more than chaste. “Eskel said you don’t really celebrate it, but one hundred years is a big deal. Come have some cake.”

Geral was dumbfounded, but allowed himself to be led by the hand to the table, pride of placing being given to the huge firey cake. It really was big.

“It took us all night to bake,” Lambert said, proudly.

“Only because someone messed up the recipie,” Eskel muttered. 

“Not my fault, salt looks like sugar,” Lambert shot back. Geralt wasn’t listening. He was looking at the odd, large plate. 

“Is this on a shield?”

“We didn’t have a serving platter big enough,” Vesemir said, giving Geralt a vertebrae crushing clap on the shoulder. 

“You have to blow out the candles,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt looked at the mass of candles skeptically, but gave it a good spirited go. After three good blows he just managed it. 

The cake, candles removed, was lopsided and a tasted a little like dripped candle wax, but Jaskier had made paper hats for them all, and there was a banner that said, ‘the big 100′ on it. 

Jaskier made them play pin the tail on the donkey too, except it was a rough wooden medallion on some twine that he’d drawn a crude wolf’s head on. They had to hang it over the head of a training dummy. 

In all, it was mostly a stupid, silly day, that Geralt loved utterly. And Lambert had made vodka and that helped. 

By nightfall Vesemir had retired to his rooms. Lambert and Eskel were bickering over something, but drunkenly, and Jaskier and Geralt were cuddled up by the fire. 

“How’s it feel to be an old man?” Jaskier asked.

“Not old, unless you’re calling Vesemir old.” Geralt squeezed him tighter.

“I would never,” Jaskier said quickly. A man within range of a witcher with pride and very good hearing. “But you…well.” He looked mock dejected. “I suppose it’s only a matter of time before your joints give out and you lose your teeth.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt growled good naturedly.

“You’ll need a walking stick,” Jaskier continued. “And look, your hair is alread completely white.” He sighed mockingly and stood up, stretching. “It’s such a shame you’re much too old and feeble to enjoy the gift I got you…”

Geralt stood too, advancing with the grace and precision of a born predator. “And what gift would that be?” he purred, although he had a pretty good idea.

“You’ll find out,” Jaskier said. “If you can catch me, old man.” He took off like a shot.

Geralt pursued.

Funny, though, they seemed to be heading right for the bedroom.


	12. Geralt Doesn't Understand Fashion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Consider: Geralt.Exe has some difficulty understanding Jaskiers dress sense; like he wears pants that are cut off above his ankles, and his travel cloak is bright but is NOT weatherproof. Can’t his bard afford good things? Does he spend all his money on Geralt and roach and not have any left to take care of himself? Geralt tries to help and gets Jask practical clothes but Jask sometimes wears the other things to events and he doesn’t understand until Jask explains fAshION DarLiNG"
> 
> Request from @silvermidnightprincess on Tumblr

Geralt is fretting. He knows this. But he’s not going to stop until he gets to the bottom of the issue. Jaskier is wearing boots, but they aren’t the boots Geralt bought him a week ago. 

Almost two weeks ago Geralt had noticed that Jaskier’s boots were no good for travel. Kind of…pointy at the toe, a bit of heel, and the leather was poor quality. It was all shiny and bright but they were bad for walking. Geralt had worried for the bard’s feet and bought some good boots for him. Contracts were going well, there was certainly enough coin to make sure his companion didn’t get blisters.

But here, in this tavern, Jaskier was dancing about in the shiny, pointy boots, strumming his lute and stomping his feet. Then Geralt noticed the pants. They were well made and colorful, but too thin. Even in this rather closely packed tavern, the weather outside was chilly and damp. The silk looked attractive in the low light, dully glowing and the embroidery was done in something shiny and caught attention. Nevertheless, the pants were too thin. 

Couldn’t Jaskier afford warm clothes? Summer had been wet and unusually chilly this year and now autumn was closing in, if he didn’t have warmer clothes before Geralt left for Kaer Morhen he’d surely freeze in the winter. 

A horrible image appeared in Geralt’s mind. Jaskier in his bad boots and thin clothes all curled up against the snow, caught in a blizzard between some village and the next. 

Of course Geralt wouldn’t let that happen. Jaskier was happily strumming away and the patrons seemed friendly enough, so Geralt slipped away. 

A few streets away there were clothing shops, but they were all full of the sorts of things Jaskier had, shiny, light clothes and bad, pointy boots. Another street over and he found a second hand shop run by a cheerful, plump woman with three teeth and frizzy grey hair rapidly escaping her bun.

She grinned at him. “Buy or sell, sweetie?” she said.

Geralt felt a little dumbstruck. He must have looked it too because she cackled at him.

“I’m guessing you want to buy, yes?” She hopped off her stool and began rummaging. “I don’t know what all I have for a big boy like you.” She gave him an appraising look. “My second husband was about your size I think, but I haven’t any of his things.”

“I’m not shopping for myself,” Geralt managed. “My friend needs a new cloak, something warm for winter.”

“Hmmm,” said the lady. “Wool would be right, so’s it’s warm even if it’s wet.” She began rummaging along a different rack. Geralt looked absently at the rack next to him. 

“Aha!” said the woman, holding up a brown cloak triumphantly. Geralt wrinkled his nose. Some chemical had been used to keep moths away. It was a good cloak though, thick and made to last. Geralt happily shelled out what the woman asked for it, not bothering to haggle. There was a glint to her grin that told him he wouldn’t win if he tried. She folded it up in some brown paper and rough, hairy twine. Geralt tucked the package under his arm, thanked the shopkeeper and walked back to their room in the inn.

It was a very small room, and it smelled of mildew. The inn was much too small to offer baths too, but Geralt schucked off his boots and sat on the bed, sinking in to meditate.

Maybe a half hour later Jaskier clattered up the rickety stairs and Geralt slipped back in from semi-consciousness to the sound of the pointy boots on the plank floor. 

“You missed the last half of my performance,” Jaskier pouted, flopping dramatically onto the bed. 

“Went shopping,” Geralt grunted. He proffered the parcel.

“For me?” Jaskier pulled at the twine. He held up the brown cloak and looked at it.

“You don’t have a warm cloak, all your clothes are just bright and thin,” Geralt said, feeling some explanation was needed. Jaskier was giving him a look, but he couldn’t tell what sort of look it was, so he continued. “And I thought, with winter coming on…”

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier said, trying the cloak on. “I suppose I am prone to fashion before function.”

“Fashion,” Geralt said a little blankly.

“Yes, dear heart, fashion,” Jaskier said, wrapping the brown cloak around himself like a blanket, then twirling to see the fabric spin out. “I trust you are familiar with the concept.”

Of course Geralt was, but the idea very rarely featured in his day-to-day life. Jaskier must have seen something in his face, however, because he crossed to the bed and sat by Geralt.

“I wear your lovely comfy boots on the road most of the time,” he said. “But I’m a bard, and part of my job is looking bright and being noticed, the same way much of your job it holding swords. Clothes can be a weapon too, sometimes.”

Geralt knew his expression was skeptical but didn’t bother masking it. Jaskier chucled and patted his face.

“I’m often at court in the winters, I don’t need warmth but the right clothes tell people a lot about you. If I have the right doublet on I’m in at the high table, I get the best job offers and invitations. The wrong clothes can see me insulted or ostracized.”

“So the shiny boots…?” Geralt said, undertanding the vauge concept, but the details were jogging behind in his mind.

“The shiny boots look good, which is part of my job,” Jaskier confirmed. “But the boots you got me aren’t for performing, they’re for walking, and I’m very glad to have them…and the lovely warm cloak.”

Geralt settled in for bed, Jaskier’s familiar routine creating an ambient silence of lots of little noises. He supposed that now, question answered, he could stop fretting. He wouldn’t he knew, he’d probably always fret when it came to Jaskier. 

And court sounded awful, a trap of social ques and bitchy nobles. And Jaskier could be safe and comfortable elsewhere, without the pressures of his job. Geralt knew he loved performing, but he could perform somewhere else, with a less judgmental crowd…like Kaer Morhen. And the keep had a good library, plenty of poetry no one had bothered to appreciate for years…

“Jaskier?” he said.

“Hmmm,” the bard said, sleepily from the other, narrow bed. 

“I think the cloak will be useful this winter, when you come with me to Kaer Morhen…if you want to, I mean.”

Jaskier sat up. “Really?”

“Really,” Geralt said. “Now sleep.”

Jaskier fell back, and Geralt began a list in his mind. His bard would need gloves, probably a hat, warmer shirts…and sleep claimed him. In the corner, the brown cloak sat, draped over the back of the chair, waiting for use.


	13. Autistic Geralt Doesn't Have Volume Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey there!! First off wanted to say I love your writing, especially how you portray autistic Geralt, it is very relatable and makes me feel happy!! I just had a thought, what if one of the reasons Geralt doesn’t speak much is bc he has a hard time controlling his volume levels?? I struggle a lot with that, and it’s an autistic trait that isn’t talked abt much, but I think it would fit him!! Idk just thought you’d like to hear the idea haha. 💛 an autistic anon"
> 
> Request from an autistic anon on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this, I didn’t know volume control was an autism thing too, I struggle with it with my ADHD. Geralt absolutely has this.

It had been okay as a little kid, lots of other kids were loud, Geralt knew. But then, during training, he got some looks sometimes, he said something too loud and those that had passed the trials gave him black looks, his voice ringing in mutated ears. 

It mostly happened when he got excited, and the things he got excited about were monsters and their lore, which meant he was too loud a lot. 

Eskel helped him. Other people yelled or told him off, Eskel just helped him train his volume a little, so he could keep it in check. It was nice, too, because others would have tried to train the loudness out of him entirely, Eskel just wanted him safe when a loud voice could get him killed, accepting the volume otherwise as just part of Geralt.

In the real world, post trials, however, no one was nice like Eskel. A loud witcher was dangerous, fightening, a threat. No one wanted witchers to speak anway, so Geralt bit his tongue and gritted his teeth and kept quiet.

Quiet was important now too. Before Geralt had been easily overwhelmed when the world was too much, but with freshly, raw nerve senses it was too much all the time. Sometimes he wanted to sit in a dark cellar somewhere.

So he didn’t talk and mediated to keep out the muchness of the world.

Then along came an idiot bard with a very loud voice, always talking and never leaving. Sometimes his volume would spike and Geralt would wince, sensitive ears protesting, but he never wanted his bard to leave. Geralt had precious few friends, even if the word never crossed his lips.

When he winced, though, Jaskier would carefully adjust his volume. Someone had taught him, Geralt could tell. Someone like Eskel had coaxed volume control into Jaskier, but when the bard was excited he got louder. It had been years since the trials, decades, and Geralt had gotten used to noise somewhat, so the bard wasn’t always too much. He was grateful for the companionship.

Then, slowly, Jaskier drew volume out of Geralt. The habits of a couple decades crumbled under careful persistance and Geralt chatted happily, volume raising as he went on about various venoms and monster classification. Instead of putting off the bard, Jaskier seemed fascinated, eyes wide and little charcoal pencil a blur. 

His songs got much more accurate too, and he never minded Geralt being loud, even if birds flew from the bushes nearest. 

Cities were still too much, and Jaskier lowered his volume carefully, trying not to contribute to the everything that agonized Geralt so much. Then, in one such city, he handed Geralt a parcel wrapped in wax paper rather bashfully. 

“It’s enchanted beeswax,” he said in a near whisper, the only sound in their darkened room. “A mage enchanted it for me, if you put a little in your ears it can block the sound.” 

Geralt tried it and the world around him stopped. It was like water in a desert. He thanked Jaskier, and he was sure his voice came out much too loudly, practically booming in the little room, but Jaskier threw his head back and laughed, then gave a thumbs up. 

Silence could be nice, Geralt thought, slipping into meditation. But maybe he didn’t always have to be silent, not with a friend around.


	14. Cervitaur Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Araglas1989 on Tumblr sent me an adorable gif of Cervitaur!Jaskier (centaur but a deer) and requested something, here it is.

“There’s something in the woods,” the alderman said.

No shit, Geralt thought. Deer, hedgehogs, rabbits, maybe a Kikimore at worst.  
“Have you seen signs,” he said instead. “People taken, children disappearring?”

“Nay, nothing like that, but houses are broken into, at first we thought it was animal scavengers but some o’ those doors need hands to open.”

“And what made you think it was animals, then?” Geralt was trying very hard not to use his talking to stupid people voice.

“It broke into the mill,” the alderman said darkly. “And flour was all strewn about the floor. There’s locks on the mill, latches, but on the floor, all the prints were hooves.”

Cervitaur, Geralt’s mind said.

“A devil!” Raged the alderman. “Or witches! Our town is beset by evil spirits, intent on stealing our food!”

“Right,” Geralt said. “I’ll take care of it.”

He made a purchase in town then led Roach to the woods and tied her up in a glade with grass and even a little sunshine. Then he sat down and opened his pack, setting out a cloth and pulling out his purchase. 

Sugarred, candied ginger. Cervitaurs were distant relatives of fauns, and anything even close to a faun had a sweet tooth. This one was probably starving too, if it was willing to go into a village. Odd, since most wild cervitaurs knew how to forage.

He took a nibble of the candied ginger. For his witcher senses, it was a bit much, but he made happy “hmmm yum” noises.

Geralt was an impressively bad actor, he knew, but he was really hoping this would work, rather than properly tracking the cervitaur and probably scaring him half to death.

There was a rustle in the bushes, and it sounded bigger than a rabbit or fox. He set the little twist of paper with the ginger on the cloth he’d spread out, tilting it so some spilled out. Then he stood up, going over to Roach and running his hands through her mane. 

There was another rustle. Geralt waited, breath bated and sensitive ears perked. Grass crunched under a hoof, a second, and then another hesitant hoof.

“I’ve heard that witchers don’t like to kill sentient creatures,” said a voice. Geralt turned.

A very thin cervitaur was in the clearing, he wore a stained blue doublet and there was a lute strapped across his back.

Geralt pointedly set his swords down, “No, we try not to, unless we have no choice.”

The cervitaur hesitated. “But you laid this trap for me?”

“Less trap,” Geralt said. “More an offerring. I figured you were hungry, most of your kind wouldn’t go near a village for less than starvation.”

The cervitaur knelt, in the funny way deer do, by the cloth, but didn’t take any ginger. Geralt sat on the opposite side of the small cloth.

“It’s not poisoned, then?” said the cervitaur, his eyes barely leaving the candy. He really was very thin, knelt like this Geralt could count every rib.

Geralt pointedly took another tiny bite, “No,” he said.

“You eat it like it is,” the cervitaur said, but he picked up a cube of ginger.

“Witcher senses,” Geralt said ruefully. It’s a bit much for me. What’s your name? I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the cervitaur’.”

“Jaskier,” came the reply, slightly muffled as he unslung his lute from his shoulder. There was dappling on his back, but his face was that of a young man, quite a handsome one, really.

“You still have spots,” Geralt said. “You aren’t a wild cervitaur?” Only young ones or cervitaurs who often transformed into humans kept their snow spots. 

Jaskier took a careful bite of ginger, then hummed in delight and took the whole cube into his mouth. “Yeah,” he said around the ginger. “My mum was a cervitaur too, but she bought a glamor from a sorceress and fell in love with my dad, then she had a glamor made for me.”

He ate another ginger cube, but Geralt took some hearty bread from his pack and cut it, preparing to listen. It was obvious Jaskier needed something heavier than candy.

“I never learned to forage, and since I mostly looked like a human, I didn’t understand why I should learn.”

Geralt hummed. A glamor could transform a cervitaur, already magical, into very nearly human, but in the real form they needed to eat like both deer and humans. Jaskier would have probably gotten by okay on grass but his human half needed real nutrients, without knowing how to find nuts and berries, he would have starved.

“So you broke into the grain store,” he said, handing Jaskier a slice of bread.

“Yes,” the lad looked shamefaced. “I didn’t want to steal but I can’t just walk into town, my glamor wore off.”

“Show me.”

“Jaskier pulled a little silver band from his finger and dropped it into Geralt’s outstretched hand. The witcher examined it carefully, looking at each of the runes. There was a long scuff through one. 

“I might be able to fix this,” he said. “Temporarily at least, but that’ll do until we get you to a sorceress.”

Jaskier watched, chewing contentedly, but his eyes never leaving Geralt, as geralt pulled a silver needle from his pack. He lay the needle on a stone and heated it with igni to red heat, wincing as he picked up the sliver of metal in his fingers. He scratched the last symbol back onto the ring, dropping the needle when it was done. 

“You’re burnt,” Jaskier said, reaching out for Geralt’s hand, looking at the line of blisters where he’d held the needle. 

“It’ll heal in an hour,” Geralt said, proferring the ring. “Try it on.”

Jaskier slid the ring onto his middle finger and he was sitting crosslegged in the grass, some rather tattered trousers on. There was a hole in the bottom of one boot.

“They thought you were a devil, you know,” Geralt said. Jaskier chuckled, then looked regretful.

“I suppose they wont pay you now,” he said. “You have no proof.”

Geralt sideyed him. “Depends, how good of an actor are you?”

Jaskier grinned and popped some ginger into his mouth. “You have no idea.”

Thirty minutes later a dirty, thin bard stumbled into the village. 

“Vanquished!” he cried, “The devil is dead! I was captured in his lair, I saw it all!”

The young man was charming, and had been through a horrible ordeal, and as he sat in the tavern and told --and sung-- the tale of how the noble witcher, the white wolf, had fought a devil to free him, the townspeople were entranced. Food and drink was sent his way by sympathetic townsfolk, Geralt even got sent a couple heaping platefuls, and ale was on the house.

Traveling with a bard mightn’t be so bad, he reflected. He nudged Jaskier, though, when he started to absentmindedly lick salt straight from the shaker.


	15. Book! Geralt Helps Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can I have some Book! Geralt,who somehow happened to be in show universe,meeting Jaskier, who after some prodding from him tells B!Geralt about mountain and B!Geralt is furious? At some point they meet show! Geralt and B!Geralt makes sh!Geralt jealous because he knows Jask's feelings are not unrequited,but only after making sh!Geralt understand that that is not how you treat your best friend in the whole wide world. I just want some sh!Geralt/Jask with a little help from B! Geralt Thank you <3
> 
> Request from Sadpathologist on Tumblr

Jaskier about leapt out of his skin when the tall, silver haired witcher appeared beside him at the bar. He seemed…different. Jaskier’s brain, marinating in a fair amount of gin, wasn’t putting in the work to decifer the difference. 

Jaskier coughed.

Geralt glanced at him, looked directly at him, then went back to ordering his drink.

So that was how it was. Twenty two years, just to end up strangers again. 

Jaskier wasn’t going to put up with that. He deserved better than that. He wasn’t quite sure what all he deserved, an apology for one, but not to be given the silent treatment and a cold shoulder were definitely on the list.

“Hey,” he said. “Geralt.” 

The witcher turned. “Do I know you?”

Jaskier felt something little crush in his chest. “That’s not fair and you know it, we’ve known eachother for decades, Geralt.” His voice was getting dangerously wobbly now and it made him burn with shame but he didn’t deserve to be treated this way. “We were friends,” he said through the lump in his throat. “I know you never called us that but we were. I know we aren’t anymore but…” He choked, not able to finish the sentence and not sure how he would have if he could.

Geralt was looking at him, wide eyed.

“Dandelion?”

huh?

“I haven’t gone by that since Oxenfurt,” Jaskier said. His rational brain was really, really trying to tell him something about Geralt, something was weird, but it had been a lot of gin. “I’m not sure I ever told you that, either.”

Geralt picked him up by the shoulder and hauled him out of the tavern, into the light of day. It hurt after all the daydrinking, but realization slid into place and the shock had a better sobering effect than a cold bath.

“You aren’t Geralt,” he said. He began to twist about in the grip, captured by some Geralt-facsimilie. 

“I am, I am,” the not-Geralt set Jaskier down. “I’m just not- I’m not you’re Geralt. He pulled Jaskier into the stables and Jaskier took a good look, since the man didn’t seem to be actively trying to kill him. 

“You aren’t my Geralt,” Jaskier said. “The scars are wrong, and your beard is more grown in than you usually let it get.” He thought. “And I don’t think I told you I ever went by Dandelion.”

“What, never?”

“You-he never asked.”

“Okay,” not-Geralt said, sitting down on a sack of hay. “I’m not from here, I know a Dandelion-Jaskier, he looks a lot like you, but he’s blonde. There was this… thing, I interrupted some big sorceressy ritual, I’m sure I’ll get back in a couple of days but listen…what did you mean when you said we-you and your Geralt- aren’t friends anymore, that he never called you friends?”

The face, almost familiar, looked very serious. Geralt was looking at him with genuine concern and it was so close to everything Jaskier wanted, but the scars were wrong, there were little laugh lines and marks in the wrong places. The eyes were the same.

He believed this Geralt, too. It sounded crazy but, well…golden dragon men, djinns, devils, elves, Jaskier had known a lot of crazy.

This Geralt hadn’t asked for the whole story, but it felt so good to tell someone about it, Jaskier gave it to him anyway. From Posada to the mountain. His voice broke, and not-quite-Geralt put a comforting arm around him, rubbing his hair in a way he liked. It was as if he knew just how Jaskier liked it.

Jaskier full on cried talking about the mountain, but he never even talked about the final argument, merely saying Geralt had sent him away. He felt safe and appreciated but it wasn’t his Geralt and it was so close that it hurt to talk about it. The thought that in another life Geralt might be his friend, could be this more open, loving person ached. In this life Geralt would rather he be dead.

He sat there, other Geralt seemed baffled. After a moment he spoked.

“What a dick.”

Jaskier was thinking though. Maybe the difference wasn’t about Geralt. What difference in Jaskier could cause all this.

“Tell me about your Jaskier?”

Geralt-ish looked down at him. “He’s blonde, he wears loud clothing, more pinks and purples, and feathered hats.” A small smile crossed his face, and it was so beautifully, heart achingly familiar. “It took me a while to accept our friendship too, but he practically forced it to me. I love him more than anything.” There was a soft look in Geralt’s eyes.

“I can’t image a world in which we aren’t at least friends, if not lovers. I don’t think the white wolf was meant to be without his barker.” He made direct, blazing eye contact with Jaskier. “We need to find your Geralt and knock sense into him, if you can’t do it, I’ll take him outside and beat him from one end of the Continent to the other.”

“I don’t even know where he is,” Jaskier said.

“We’ll find him, if I were him I’d still be brooding at the bottom of that mountain.” Other-Geralt began slinging bags onto Roach. She looked exactly like Roach. Jaskier approached carefully. 

She sniffed him cautiously, but there must have been something in his scent she recognized because she nuzzled him appreciatively. Wrong-Geralt mounted up and looked at Jaskier expectantly.

“Well? Go on, get on Roach.”

“Oh no,” Jaskier said, stepping back. “I’m not allowed on Roach.”

Not-Geralt looked at him like he was stupid. “What do you mean you’re ‘not allowed on Roach’, you don’t have your own horse. You can’t walk all the time.”

Jaskier shouldered his lute. “I manage fine.”

Not-Geralt picked him up by his collar and deposited him solidly on Roach’s back. “Hold tight,” he said. “We can’t both ride her all the time, but we’ll take turns walking, it’s not too far to the mountain you mentioned.”

Jaskier wasn’t certain he wanted to go back to that mountain at all. 

This wasn’t his Geralt. This was a witcher from a completely different universe. One with a blonde Jaskier who still went by his old stage name. He could be completely wrong about all of this. He might love his Jaskier, but what if in this world Jaskier was truly despicable to his Geralt. A shit shoveler. 

He must have tensed because the Geralt he had his arms wrapped around twisted back to look at him.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“There’s something you aren’t saying.”

Jaskier sighed, and they rode on a few more minutes in silence. He hadn’t gotten very far from the mountain, and it would take them only a few hours on horse back.

“When Geralt-my Geralt, told me to leave on the mountain…” Jaskier tailed off, the memory was still so recent and it stung. 

“He said something, didn’t he?”

Jaskier nodded, sure the witcher would feel the movement.

“It’s okay, you can tell me. What did he say?”

“He told me I shovel shit,” Jaskier gave a wet little chuckle. “He blamed me for every bad thing that happened in his life. Then he said…”

Other-Geralt held Jaskier’s wrist where his arms were holding on and rubbed his thumb across the joint sympathetically. Jaskier began to cry silently.

“He told me that if life could give him one blessing,” Jaskier said, leaning his wet face against the back of other-Geralt. “If life could give him one blessing it would be to take me off of his hands.”

Other-Geralt took in a sharp breath and brought other-Roach up short. He turned almost fully around in his saddle.

“He said what?” His voice was low and dangerous. There was real fury in his voice.

“He said-” 

“I heard what he said, he said that to you? He actually looked at you and told you that?”

Jaskier nodded. 

“Tell me,” other-Geralt said. “Did he leave you to get off of that mountain alone?”

“There were tracks,” Jaskier said, feeling somehow that he should defend his Geralt, although admittedly the witcher probably no longer deserved his loyalty.

“And, from what you’ve told me, some pretty murderous people not to mention treacherous terrain.” Other-Geralt nudged not-Roach into a trot, but his jaw was working the way Geralt’s did when he was angry.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“Don’t,” Jaskier said softly. Not-Geralt peered at him over his shoulder. 

“You know you don’t deserve what he said, right?”

“Yes of course, I didn’t deserve any of that.” Jaskier huffed ruefully. “Especially not after twenty two years.”

“Good,” not-Geralt said, turning back to face front. “So long as you understand that.”

They rode a while in silence, Jaskier’s eyes gradually drying.

“Do you love him?” not-Geralt asked eventually. 

“More than life,” Jaskier said. 

“Even after all this? No one would blame you if you fell out of love after treatment like that.”

“Even now, yes,” Jaskier sighed. “I think it’s because I understand him better than anyone. He isn’t used to dealing with his emotions, so sometimes he does it badly. I still love him, but he really messed up this time, he’s bad at emotions but this bad…it really hurt me.”

Other-Roach walked another long silence.

“I think it hurt even more because sometimes,” Jaskier took a deep breath, not willing to cry again today. “Sometimes I thought he might love me back, love me too. There were little things he’d do…”

“Like what?”

“Oh little things, he noticed when my boots needed replacing before I did, let me wash his hair. Tiny, sleep smiles in the morning, that sort of thing.”

“He does love you,” other-Geralt said. “I’m certain of it. We’re not far from the mountain now, and I have a plan, if you’re willing.”

“A plan?”

“Absolutely. It will be torture for him, and he’ll certainly apologize, probably confess his feelings too.””

Not-Geralt explained his plan. 

Jaskier listened.

“Won’t your Jaskier mind?” he asked. 

“I don’t think so, we have a flexible exclusivity, and this is for a very good cause, besides, we won’t go very far.”

“If you’re certain.”

“It won’t make you uncomfortable?” asked the other-Geralt.

“No, actually,” Jaskier said, grinning. “I think it’s a perfect plan.”

They reached the inn at the base of the mountain before nightfall.

Just like other-Geralt said he’d be, Jaskier’s Geralt was drinking with a single mindedness that was a little worrying. Other-Geralt turned to him.

“Sure you don’t want me to just beat sense into him?”

“No,” Jaskier said, mentally slipping into character.

“Okay then, ready?”

“Ready.”

Other-Geralt strolled up to the bar with Jaskier basically hanging off his arm.

“Pint for me, please,” he told the barman. “And one for my…friend.”

Friend dripped positively salaciously. 

Jaskier’s Geralt didn’t even look up, but he didn’t let himself be deterred. 

They sat with their ales close, but not too close to Geralt. Jaskier plopped himself, giggling into other-Geralt’s lap. He leaned into his ear and whispered flirtily, “tell me a joke?”

Other-Geralt chuckled, and oh, that sound in such a familiar voice made Jaskier’s heart skip in his chest. 

“Where does the general keep his armies?” other-Geralt asked. Jaskier thought, then asked,

“I dunno, where?”

“Up his sleevies.”

It was such a ridiculous joke, silly and lighthearted and so odd to hear in Geralt’s deep rumbling voice that Jaskier tilted his head back and let peals of laughter escape. He finally disolved into little, bubbling giggles and buried his face into other-Geralt’s neck.

“Is he looking?” he whispered, barely a breath so that sensitive witcher ears wouldn’t hear in the loud tavern.

“Yes,” other-Geralt rumbled. “He looks green with envy.”

Jaskier looked into almost familiar eyes, smiling. “Okay?” he whispered. 

“Yeah, okay,” other-Geralt said. He leaned in and kissed Jaskier. 

It was a lovely kiss, other-Jaskier clearly liked being kissed the same way, but it was fairly short. Then other-Geralt pressed little kisses along the top of Jaskier’s cheeks and behind his ears, beginning to trail down his neck.

“Jaskier.”

It was his Geralt, standing over them. Jaskier looked up. “I’m busy,” he said, then leaned in to wrap his arms around other-Geralt’s neck, as if he was going to kiss him again. 

Geralt lifted him off by his collar. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled. Jaskier noted with amusement that he was making his voice deeper than usual, like a tom cat fluffing it’s tail. The bard crossed his arms as his feet hit the floor. 

“I don’t see why that’s any of your business,” he said, although part of him just wanted to melt into that familiar gaze. “Especially since you decided it would be a blessing for me to be taken off your hands.”

Other-Geralt, with expert timing, pulled Jaskier back into his lap, sliding one hand up to Jaskier’s inner thigh. It was almost indecent, although not really, but Geralt looked ready to explode. 

“I don’t know if you noticed,” other-Geralt said, voice pitched suggestively. “But your hands aren’t what he’s going to be on.” This was accompanied with a truly indecent hip thrust, rolling Jaskier where he was sat on other-Geralt’s lap. The witcher wasn’t hard, and it was all an act, but Jaskier couldn’t help blushing a little. This was, after all, the body double of his Geralt. 

He looked up at Geralt. “You can go now,” he said.

His Geralt looked so conflicted that Jaskier’s heart went out to him. He could see the emotion running across Geralt’s face. Guilt, regret, loss, betrayal, anger.

“Please, Jaskier,” he said. 

“Please Jaskier what?” just because he still loved the idiot didn’t mean he was going to make this easy. “Please Jaskier leave me so you don’t shovel more shit into my life?” Geralt winced.

“Please Jaskier take yourself off my hands because after more than twenty years I still don’t think of you as a friend?” Geralt winced again. Other-Geralt had started leaving teasing, butterfly kisses along his neck again, and was shifting in his seat. It wasn’t sexy, and his hips weren’t rocking against Jaskier, but to Geralt it must surely look that way.

“Please Jaskier, find your own way off this god-forsaken mountain with murderers and monsters and, oh yeah, all the provisions were in your pack and I had to forage and not poison myself?”

Other-Geralt growled his displeasure at that detail. Geralt’s shoulders slumped. Jaskier tapped other-Geralt’s leg to let him up and they both stood. 

“I’m going outside,” he said. “If you want to say something, come too, if not, I’m leaving.” Jaskier smiled flirtatiously at other-Geralt. “And he’ll be going with me.”

Geralt followed him outside. 

Other-Geralt followed too, but at a slower pace so they could talk. 

In the stables, hoping Geralt wouldn’t notice the identical Roaches side by side, he whirled around, finally letting out every last bit of anger, betrayal and frustration he’d been feeling.

“Twenty two years you stupid bastard!” he yelled, poking one finger into Geralt’s chest. “Two decades!” he smacked the armor with an open palm. “And in all that time not once could you bear to so much as call me you friend! You ASSHOLE! And I love you! That’s not fair because I STILL love you! And you DON’T DESERVE IT! But I LOVE YOU!” 

Jaskier took a tiny breath then continued yelling. 

“And I KNOW you love me too! You don’t do the things we did for one another without love! It might not be the way I love you, that’s okay, if you only love me platonically, but you love me! I was so SURE you loved me! AND THEN YOU LEFT ME ON THE MOUNTAIN!”

Geralt opened his mouth and Jaskier slapped a hand over it. He wasn’t sure at what point during the screaming he’d started crying but he wasn’t about to lose momentum now.

“NO! I’m talking now! You LEFT ME ON THAT MOUNTAIN! I COULD HAVE DIED! YOU DON”T DO THAT TO PEOPLE YOU LOVE!” Damn it all, he was losing momentum, he was crying for real, sobbing. And the sobs were choking his anger. 

“You told me I was a burden and a curse,” he said between sobs. “That I had only ever caused you misfortune.” He sucked in a breath and looked into tortured golden eyes. “You told me that if life could give you one blessing it would be for me to be taken off your hands. How did you mean that? Did you mean simply that you would never see me again? Or did you mean me dying on that mountain without a pack and without food or water? Or did you mean me falling on that mountain and dying alone and in pain on the rocks below? Did you mean me getting murdered by the bastards who’d gone on that dragon hunt?”

Jaskier was sniffling great, snotty pauses in his sentences. “Or maybe you just wanted some peace and quiet, like that time with the djinn.” He stepped back from Geralt and met his gaze, watery though his own eyes might have been. “So tell me, how did you mean it, Geralt?”

“I didn’t.”

It was a whisper, then Geralt knelt in the straw and took both of Jaskier’s slightly shaking hands in his own. 

“I swear on my life, Jaskier I didn’t mean it.” 

His gaze was so honest and open and he looked so tortured Jaskier wanted to forgive him and fall into his arms right there, but he was still hurting so badly.

“You said it though, it almost came true, like with the djinn, am I that much of a burden to you?”

“No!,” Geralt stood, not releasing Jaskier’s hands. “No,” he said a little more calmly, stepping closer. “You are the greatest gift of my life, my treasure, my friend,I swear it.”

Geralt looked at Jaskier’s face, gold and blue meeting in the dim stable light. 

“I don’t know if you can believe my oath, but I swear to you, on the name of every witcher, alive or dead, on the medallion I wear around my neck, Jaskier. Jaskier, you are my truest blessing.”

He pulled Jaskier into a perfect, soul numbing hug. 

“I’ve hardly slept,” Geralt whispered. “I’m so, so sorry. I’ve hardly slept for the thought that I’d killed you. Fed you to that mountain.” Geralt was taking great, shuddering breaths, his shoulders trembling, tremors in the earthquake taking over him. “I thought I’d killed my love. I’m so sorry, Jaskier. My love. I do love you, not as friends. I love you like a ballad, and I could have killed you.” 

Geralt was crying, Jaskier realized. His tear ducts may have been dry but he was crying all the same, clutching to Jaskier like a lifeline, like Geralt himself had been left dangling from the mountainside and Jaskier was his rope.

“I’m sorry Jaskier, so, so sorry. I’m poor with emotions and I took it out on you and it could have killed you,” Geralt said, his face buried in Jaskier’s hair, squeezing him tight like he wanted them to be glued together. “I didn’t mean a word of it I swear, and I searched that thrice damned mountain for you until I found your tracks leading you safely away.”

“I wanted to kill you,” other-Geralt said, stepping around from the corner of the stables. “You’re lucky he still loves you, or I might have.”

Geralt-Jaskier’s Geralt, for ther first time got a decent look, not obscured by jealousy or dim lighting, of other-Geralt.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re…”

“You? Yeah. It’s hard to explain but it involves blundering in to some sorceressy bullshit.” Other-Geralt clapped one massive hand onto Geralt’s shoulder and stared into his face, gold meeting gold. “I have a bard in my world, and I’ll be returned to him soon. He is truly my greatest gift. I want nothing of your bard but for him to be happy, because I do not believe in any world where I and my love are not at least companions.”

“I understand,” Geralt said.

“No, I don’t think you do,” other-Geralt said. “If I ever somehow, and I don’t know how, get a dream I suppose, that you mistreat your gift again, I will slice open this wall between worlds and hunt you down myself.”

A whistle came from behind them, and the three men turned. Jaskier looked into a face very similar to his own. It had a goatee. And blonde hair. The man was standing next to a glowing portal.

“Geralt,” the other-Jaskier, Dandelion, Jaskier supposed, said. There was relief in his voice. He leapt to his witcher and there was a kiss so vigorous that Jaskier, singer of two dozen bawdy songs, looked away. 

“I feared I’d never find you,” the blonde said. Other-Geralt grinned at him.

“I always knew you would, my love.”

He turned to Geralt and Jaskier, standing dumbstruck. “I guess my work here is done.” Here he pointed at Geralt. “Remember my warning.” He mounted up on his Roach and with barely a sound to mark their leaving, the pair left.

“Well,” said Jaskier, sitting on a barrell. 

“Well,” said Geralt, standing stunned in the center of the stables.

“I’m glad at least somewhere we sorted ourselves out,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly.

“I want that to be us.”

“What?” 

“I want to be able to kiss you like that, someday.” Geralt crossed the room towards Jaskier. “I want to turn to you someday and not be so…so stupid, so emotionally stunted, that I can name you as ‘my love’ in front of others.”

“But…”

“Jaskier, I never called you friend because it ached that you saw me as friend when I wanted you to be more, and now I’ve had a taste of losing you and I would walk over fire never to do so.”

Geralt got down on his knees in the stable and reached out with one hand. His fingers curled around Jaskier’s neck and pulled him closer until their foreheads gently met.

Somehow it was more intimate than a kiss.

“I forgive you,” Jaskier said. “And I love you, always.”

Geralt tilted his head up and captured Jaskier’s lips. 

It was sweet and perfect and Geralt pulled back and planted so many more beautiful, chaste kisses that they fell like rain. 

Then he pulled back and tugged Jaskier to his feet, a little, toe-tinglingly sexy growl escaping him.

“My love,” Geralt said, clearly savoring the phrase in their little bubble of secrecy. “I could eat you alive.”

“That,” Jaskier said, pulling back and smiling. “You may have to wait for.”

Geralt followed him out into the chilly evening. “For you I would wait forever,” he said.

Jaskier had a feeling that he probably wouldn’t make Geralt wait very long.


	16. Geralt has Three Braincells (And Roach has custody)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk if ur taking prompts but here ya go
> 
> It takes Geralt “Three Braincells” of Rivia a handful of decades to realize Jaksier isn’t mortal
> 
> From an Anon on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, its a plague fic technically, but its happy.

They’re in some shitty little cottage and Geralt has a headache.

It’s actually a very nice, clean cottage, well kept and, according to Jaskier, idyllic. The issue is that they’d gone to the coast, an annual tradition for them, but a plague had struck the countryside and everyone had been ordered to stay at home.

Naturally, Geralt didn’t have to worry about falling ill himself, and Jaskier was a very healthy young man who never seemed to have so much as a sniffle. The issue was that Geralt couldn’t imagine anything more awful than spreading the illness to another village.

Mostly so far people seemed to be recovering, and a message from Yennefer said that she and her peers were searching frantically for a cure. There had been deaths though. Mostly the elderly or the poorly, but tragedies all around. In poor areas, where many people slept all in one room, whole families caught it within the day. 

So Geralt and Jaskier had been holed up in the little cottage by the sea for two months now. Geralt was going stir crazy. He mostly rode Roach or went fishing and hunting, dropping the occasional cleaned fish or leg of venison at poorer houses in the little fishing village. Still. He wanted to be on the Path.

Jaskier was writing a book, prose rather than poetry, and so far it was all about love and mystery and betrayal. It seemed rather fantastical to Geralt, but Jaskier insisted that it was what people wanted to read, and who would know better than he. 

Tonight it was raining, and after supper as the light grew so dim Geralt sat in front of the fire, slowly losing his mind to cabin fever.

“Remember the last plague?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt did. Perhaps ten years after Jaskier had joined him. It had been awful, but Jaskier and he had stayed well away from that side of the Continent. 

“A tragedy,” Geralt said.

“Yes.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Jaskier said, “strange to think it’s been fifty years since then.”

Geralt did some quick mental calculations. 

“Fifty?” But yes, fifty years since the last plague, and sixty since meeting Jaskier. So why was his face still the one he’d worn at twenty. 

“What are you?” Geralt asked it calmly. Even he could see that taking six decades to figure this out was slow.

“Dear heart, did you only now get it?”

“Hmmm.”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, not unkindly, sitting down beside him. “I thought you’d figured it out ages ago.”

“Hmmm,” and then, feeling that wasn’t sufficient, “No.”

“I’m half-elven, dear heart.”

“Ah.”

“Sixty years, Geralt. Really. I had a bet going with Yennefer that you just didn’t think it was worth talking about. I’m going to have to pay for a new dress for her.”

Geralt said nothing. 

Jaskier chuckled, then reached down and lightly tugged a lock of snowy hair.

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”


	17. Curly! Geralt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you're still open to prompts or ideas what about Geralt with curly hair, not wavy I'm talking full curls that only get worse near the ends. (Badly) Straightening it so it's easier tie up and ignore feels like a Geralt thing to do but the one time he forgets Jaskier can't get over how it looks. Also fuck all those mean asks you've been getting I vibe with your schedule and fics, being patient with expectation is part of the fun and if anybody says different they're wrong
> 
> Request from an Anon on Tumblr

Geralt hadn’t realized that moving in with Jaskier would mean so little privacy.

Sure, the apartment was tiny and Jaskier was so casually absentminded it meant him drifting between rooms like a musical ghost. But somehow Geralt hadn’t expected it. 

Really most of the time it wasn’t even bad, and Jaskier knew when Geralt really needed space. But still…

“Geralt,” Jaskier said through the door. “Are you on the toilet or in the shower?”

“Uh, no?”

“Can you let me in? I tried this face mask but it feels like it’s burning.”

Geralt sighed and opened the bathroom door. 

Jaskier’s experiments with skin care, specifically face masks were often amusing, sometimes tasty (the cocoa and oatmeal homemade one), and sometimes disastrous. Jaskier was apparently slightly allergic to a large number of perfumes and dyes. At least once a month some cheap, two dollar facemask turned his face shiny and pink. He never gave them up though, keeping instead a careful list of the bad ones. 

He’d convinced Geralt to try a couple, thankfully picking less vibrant colors, and they were rather nice.

This time, however, Jaskier bustled in gratefully and began to desperately scrub something obnoxiously purple off his face. 

“I could feel it start to sting,” Jaskier said around the frantic face splashing. “It sounded so nice, lavender and peony with ‘calming cooling cucumber’.” Jaskier used his advertisement voice for the last part. It was a good voice, and it made him a fair amount of money, the only reason they could afford their apartment. Two grad students in a big city would generally be sharing a bedroom the side of a matchbox by now, and Geralt’s various bartending and bouncer jobs didn’t pick up that much money. 

“How do I look?”

Jaskier had surfaced, face only slightly chemical-pink, with a hint of purple goop by his ear. Geralt removed it absentmindedly.

“How do you look?! Geralt, your hair is curly!”

“Yes?”

Did Jaskier really not know? He always straightened it, sure, it was just easier that way, but had Jaskier never seen….? Apparently not, because he was hurriedly unplugging Geralt’s straightener.

“Why would you hide this? Geralt it’s beautiful!” Jaskier was running his hands through the curls, short nails scratching nicely along his scalp. 

“Oh but it could use a little work too,” Jaskier said, lifting a frizzy strand. “Dear heart it’s damaged all to hell, do you even use heat protectant spray?”

Heat protectant spray?

Jaskier snorted, although Geralt had said nothing aloud, his face must have said it all. Jaskier placed both hands on Geralt’s shoulders and sat him firmly down on top of the toilet lid. 

“Stay,” he said. Then he disappeared.

Geralt huffed. Roach, the grumpy tabby he’d found behind a dumpster one night when he was moonlighting as a bouncer leapt up onto the counter and stared down at him judgmentally. He rolled his eyes at her. She blinked back at him, slowly.

You like when he fusses over you. He imagined her saying. It was the way cats look at you, like they know all about you and are actually staring straight through you. 

I do not. He thought for her benefit. 

She blinked at him again, quite judgmentally, then stood and turned a tight circle on the corner of the sink. She sat down again facing directly away from him, very clearly giving him a cold shoulder. Lie to yourself all you like.

Jaskier bustled back in with an armful of…stuff. “I don’t have all the things I’d really need for your hair of course,” he was saying. “There’s a little bit of wave to my hair, sure, but I don’t have full curls like you.”

Jaskier climbed up onto the counter corner, moving Roach gently to the floor. “Hello pretty girl.” He set his knees around Geralt, and began to pour something into his hand. 

Geralt sniffed. “Is that sandalwood?”

“Very good, it’s a hair cream, good for restoring, I texted Triss and it should be okay for your hair.” He massaged it into Geralt’s head with strange scrunching motions that caught all of Geralt’s curls. 

He’d rarely really thought of them as curls. He knew that’s what his hair was, of course, but he always straightened it and he had a three-in-one shampoo conditioner and body wash, which had been the cause of a conniption fit when Jaskier had first moved in. 

Whatever Jaskier was doing felt good, though. Like a scalp massage.

“Mrrrhp.” said Roach. It sounded smug.

“Okay,” Jaskier said. “I’m gonna scrunch your hair with this.” He waved a washcloth. “To remove a little of the product and,” he checked his phone. “Define the curl.”

Jaskier set about playing with Geralt’s hair. He knew that wasn’t what the man was doing, but it felt like it. When Jaskier finally put down the washcloth he gave Geralt a quick spritz of something.

“Okay, I think I did it, take a look.”

Geralt was reluctant to stand from where he’d been bracketed by Jaskier’s knees, but he went to the mirror.

“It looks kind of…”

Weird. It looked weird. Geralt never just wore his curls and these weren’t even the horrible mess of having just woke up. They were actual curls.

“Sissy,” he said. 

“Oh,” Jaskier looked put out. “I think they look very nice.”

Sitting on the edge of the tub, Roach blinked at Geralt judgementally. 

“I’m not used to it,” Geralt said, tugging at a curl, which bounced. “But I guess it does look…nice.”

“I have an idea,” Jaskier said. He took a little packet of bobby pins that Geralt thought he recognized from the last time Yen had been over. There was some twisting and in the mirror he couldn’t really see what was going on. A couple little digs into his scalp and then…

“Voila,” Jaskier said. 

It was a bun.

A man bun. 

Except, man bun implied tiny and sort of inconsequential. This was quite a lot of hair and the curls looked good, adding texture.

It looked manly, for sure, but it felt secure. Geralt bobbled his head a little to check.

“I like it,” he said.

Jaskier beamed.

From the tub’s edge, Roach “mmmphrp”-ed approvingly.


	18. Lambden Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah okay I have a holiday prompt. How about Lambert and Aiden getting caught under some mistletoe or maybe Geralt and Jaskier getting trapped in a snow storm somewhere. I love your writing so much❤️
> 
> Request from an Anon on Tumblr

“I can’t believe your father made us go out and get firewood with the weather like this.”

“He’s not my dad, he’s just…Vesemir,” Lambert growled, peering through the thickly falling snow for a decent tree.

“Yeah,” Aiden said. “Well your Vesemir sent us out in a blizzard.”

“It’s not that bad,” Lambert said. It would get worse, they both knew, and the keep would be glad of the sled load of firewood then, but for now the two of them bickered .

“I swear I’ve seen smaller snowflakes made of paper,” Aiden grumbled, but it was good-natured. It was nice, just the two of them in the woods, with the admittedly quite pretty snow falling around them like a blanket.

Some icy slush slid down into Lambert’s boot, soaking his thick socks and it was suddenly much less idyllic.

“Look, is that a snow hare?” Aiden said, pointing.

“No,” Lambert growled, not looking up. Aiden was doing his best to distract him from worrying, Geralt and his tagalong bard hadn’t arrived at the keep yet, and it was preying on his mind.

“This log looks good though,” Aiden said, and they set to it with their axes, loading it onto the sled. It was in fact an entire fallen tree, split by wind or weather, with pinecones still clinging to the branches. 

Whatever, they’d make good kindling.

“We should get another,” Aiden said conversationally as they hauled the heaping sled back along their path. “Like that one but fresh, we could put decorations on it and everything.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lambert said. He could picture just the spot in the great hall though. 

“Holly berries and evergreen boughs too,” Aiden was saying. He glanced at Lambert slyly. “And mistletoe.”

“No.”

“Oh yes, don’t worry sugar pie-” Lambert snarled at the nickname. “I’ll put it up, show off my superior climbing abilities you find so sexy.”

“You just want to show off in general,” Lambert said. The climbing was sexy. And the flexibility…

“And then I get to kiss you under the mistletoe.”

“It’s a shame we haven’t seen any around,” Lambert said dryly. It meant he could escape the public display of affection. It wasn’t too bad at the keep, with his brothers, people he trusted, but still.

“Oh,” Aiden said. His cat’s pupils had dilated, which of course any witcher’s did when excited or happy. He looked like a dumbass, though. “Haven’t we?”

He reached onto their sled and pulled out a great lump of the parasitic plant which had been hiding among the branches of the fallen tree.

“You picked that tree because of that, didn’t you,” Lambert said. It wasn’t a question.

“It may have influenced my decision,” Aiden stopped pulling the sled. Lambert, not about to haul it on his own, stopped too. His boyfriend pulled a spric of mistletoe from the bunch and held it up.

“How could I resist,” he said, stalking forward, all cat-like grace and swaying hips. “All that temptation,” He was nearly on top of Lambert now, backing him against a tree. “Right in front of me,” he purred in Lambert’s ear.

He held the mistletoe higher, wrapping an arm around Lambert’s waist. It was very warm, despite the snow. Aiden leaned Lambert back against the tree and

And his lips were so very warm.

Lambert loved kissing. He loved kissing Aiden. He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and deepened the kiss, feeling him do the same. The sprig of mistletoe, still in Aiden’s hand, bumped up against the back of his head.

A squirrel, late in preparing for winter, jumped on a branch above them, dousing them both in snow. They pulled apart with twin noises of chilly shock as snow slipped under their collars. 

“We should get back,” Lambert said.

Aiden started pulling the sled again. “Should I toss the mistletoe away?”

“No. Keep it.”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Down the mountain, although not far from Kaer Morhen, another witcher and his bard, along with their faithful horse, took shelter in a cave.

“It’s such a pretty snow,” Jaskier said. “Like a woodcut, see how it’s all clinging to the trees.”

“A wet snow,” Geralt rumbled. “Easily hypothermic.”

Jaskier turned. “I guess it’s a good thing we’ll be at the keep by tomorrow then,” he said.

“Tomorrow won’t help if we freeze tonight,” Geralt growled. He was just being grumpy for the sake of it, Jaskier knew. They had good cloaks and Geralt had made a crackling fire in their makeshift shelter. 

Jaskier slipped off his wet traveling cloak and gloves and sauntered towards his witcher. “I guess we’ll have to huddle for warmth.”

Geralt’s eyes glowed in the firelight. 

“What a shame.”


	19. Jaskier's First Visit to Kaer Morhen + Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is a Monday Evening Prompt: How about Jaskier coming to Kaer Morhen and bringing little presents for all the wolves? Could be his first visit or not. Have a nice evening!
> 
> Request from Petrificustotalus on Tumblr

Geralt could smell the anxiety rolling off of Jaskier in waves all the way up to Kaer Morhen. The bard was practically vibrating out of his travel cloak. On the few stops on their way up the mountain he didn’t sing, choosing instead to pluck repetitive tunes on his lute. 

Their last stop before the keep was in a cave, long used by witchers returning home. This last haven before home always brought out something deep and maybe even proud in Geralt’s chest. 

The cave was not large, but deep enough that the weather didn’t permeate. Geralt lead Roach to the back, where centuries of hooves had worn a groove, and threw her blanket over her. Jaskier rubbed her nose affectionately, looking around in wonder, despite the fading light.

Geralt began setting a fire in the ring of stones left behind by one of his brothers. Two slashes were carved into the side of a larger stone. Lambert then, a sign left for whichever of his brothers cam behind.

Fire flared and Jaskier gasped. Every witcher who had stayed in the cave, since its presence had been discovered, had carved their name into the wall. Jaskier stepped immediately to the back of the cave, tracing names almost worn away with trembling hands. 

Geralt took his hand and guided his fingertips and his feet closer to the mouth of the cave. Jaskier brushed his thumb over the V in Vesemir. 

“Your name…?”

Geralt found it for him.

“I couldn’t read yet,” he whispered, when he found the marks he sought. “You know how the letters switch in my mind. Eskel told me what to carve.” 

The names were right next to one another and Jaskier pressed one hand against them, as if he was trying to reach into the past. 

“Lambert’s is here,” Geralt said, voice almost a whisper. It felt appropriate here. 

Jaskier traced it gently, too. 

They sat down to eat without much talking, unusual for the bard, but this much history could be oppressive for anyone. There were drawings among the names and Jaskier kept glancing at them. 

After dinner they huddled together, backs against one of the walls.

“That one,” Geralt said, pointing to the back of the cave, “That’s the first version of the wolf on my medallion.” He had smelled the anxiety rising on Jaskier’s scent again, and hoped talking could keep it at bay. 

“There,” he pointed again. “That’s Gawain of Ymlac’s name, almost faded. He’s famous, bards wrote about his fight with a knight, Bertilak the Green.”

“I know the story,” Jaskier said, eyes wide. “But the way it’s always told, Gawain is a knight.”

Geralt shook his head. “Gawain was considered one of the best of us, but he was no knight. Bertilak visited here too, but he could not write, few could in those days.”

“So his name isn’t here?” Jaskier sounded disappointed.

“It is, the rough carving of the tree, beneath Gawain’s name, is his. It was the sigil on his shield.”

Jaskier’s eyes were so round he looked like a child at Yuletide.

“There,” Geralt pointed, “is the name of another famous visitor. I wonder if you know him.”

Jaskier stood and walked over. “Here?” he asked. “Taliesin, I’ve never heard the name, was he from another witcher school?”

“No,” Geralt said, walking to Jaskier’s side. “A sorceror and a bard. I think you would know him better by another name.” He couldn’t resist the dramatic pause. Jaskier looked up at him, hanging on his words.

“I believe they call him…” Jaskier leaned in. “Merlin.”

“Never!” Jaskier cried, hopping back. “Geralt you’re pulling my leg!”

“I am not,” Geralt said. “He wrote notes in some of the books in the library.”

Jaskier was no longer nervous, hopping about in excitement. 

“Which ones? Do you know? I have to read them all. Geralt can you think of the stories!”

Geralt chuckled. 

“This one,” he said. “Is Aiden’s signature.” It was hard to read, the rock was soft, but carving was still difficult work.

“Lambert’s friend?”

Geralt nodded. “From the cat school. I think you’ll like him.” The pair of them would probably manage to burn the keep down.

Jaskier looked around him with a stunned grin. Geralt pulled out the heavy work knife he kept at his thigh and offered it to Jaskier, hilt first.

“What?”

“Well you need to carve your name, don’t you?”

Jaskier’s eyes filled. “Really?”

“Of course, someday someone will point out the name of Jaskier, the Continent’s famous bard.”

Jaskier grinned bashfully. He sat at the wall of the cave and scratched out his name. It was slow going for a human, without magic or mutant strength, but he did. Then he began a new carving.

Geralt didn’t ask yet, but restocked the fire and waited. 

At last Jaskier pulled back, there was the carving from Geralt’s medallion, a lark, and a flower. 

Geralt felt his chest tighten, but in a warm way. 

That night, beside eachother in their bedrolls, Jaskier tossed and turned.

“Stop,” Geralt said. “Sleep, it will be alright.”

“The ground is hard,” Jaskier said. 

“They’ll like you,” Geralt said. “You’re my-” friend, he wanted to finish. The word couldn’t seem to break from between his lips. 

“Bard,” he finished lamely. “They know that, they’ll respect it.”

Jaskier gave a little twitch that was maybe a shrug under the layers of fabric.

“They’ll see what I see,” Geralt said.

“A fillingless pie?” Jaskier said jokingly. Some of the anxiety had gone, though. 

Geralt huffed. “Everyone knows the crust is the best part, anyway.”

He rolled over and went to sleep. 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

They arrived at the gates of Kaer Morhen midmorning the next day. Jaskier was looking around in awe, taking in the crumbling architecture. 

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered.

Geralt was about to respond but was tackled into a snowdrift by his younger brother.

Geralt laughed and tossed Lambert off him, only for Eskel to join the fray, the three of them scrapping and laughing, rolling about the courtyard. 

Vesemir pulled them apart by their collars. Then he nuzzled Geralt before gruffly ruffling his hair. “Welcome back, lad,” he said.

Jaskier was looking on wide-eyed, but Geralt didn’t have time to explain the odd greeting because Eskel was next. 

His brother gave him a rib shaking hug and roughly grated his cheek along Geralt’s, snuffling a little as he took in his brother’s scent. 

Lambert, still a pup, didn’t wait his turn and butted his cheek agains Geralt’s other one, then delivered a bit of a nip to Geralt’s ear. He pulled back looking a little embarrassed, but the brother’s understood, sometimes the wolf instinct was a little strong.

“Um,” Jaskier said. Four pairs of golden eyes turned to look at him.

“I’m Jaskier, Geralt’s bard…should I greet you like a wolf or….?” He stuck out his hand awkwardly.

“A handshake is fine, lad,” Vesemir said, taking the bard’s offered hand. Geralt watched Jaskier almost not wince as his fingers were, accidentally, ground together. “The wolf is just a little stonger in winter for my boys.”

Geralt noticed that Vesemir’s nostrils still flared as he took in Jaskier’s unfamiliar scent, but didn’t say anything.

Eskel and Lambert both somewhat sheepishly shook the bard’s hand. Then the little party unloaded Roach and continued into the great hall.

Jaskier gratefully warmed his hands at the fire before sitting at the table with the rest of the witchers. He began digging in his pack.

“I, uh, I brought gifts,” he said, pulling out packages. “Since I’m your guest and all.”

Vesemir huffed good naturedly “still put you to work, guest or no,” he said.

“Of course,” Jaskier said. He looked around. “I have one for Aiden too? Is he here?”

“Eavesdropping,” Lambert said. A witcher slunk around a doorway and sat next to him, not even bothering to look ashamed. He was of a leaner build than the wolves, more wiry.

Aiden extended a hand to Jaskier, who took it politely. 

“I’ve heard good things,” he purred. 

“Thank you.”

“Heard you’ve tamed Pretty Boy.”

Geralt snarled, mostly playfully.

Jaskier smiled. “I get him to take a bath once in a while, I’m not sure it counts as tame.” It got a chuckle from Aiden, and Geralt felt his sanity slipping away already as he pictured their friendship. 

“Um,” Jaskier said, proffering a package to Vesemir. The old wolf took it with a nod and pulled at the rough twine. 

“Candles,” Vesmir said, looking at the slightly misshapen lumps in front of him. Four of them, in waxed paper, and an odd color, a pale, pale green. Geralt realised it first, but Vesemir said the name before him.

“Strydwen wax,” he said approvingly. “Burns without smoke or heat. Never goes out or melts away. Thank you.” 

The ‘thank you’ was said with a resonance that Geralt had never been able to master. It sort of took up place in your chest and stayed there. Jaskier fairly glowed with it.

“For Eskel,” he said, handing another package over. 

Eskel smiled at him and pulled apart the wrapping to reveal a large, leatherbound book.

“Poetry,” Eskel said delightedly.

“Newly published by a former professor of mine,” Jaskier confirmed. Eskel examined the cover.

“You studied under Rumi?” Eskel looked impressed.

“Six semesters,” Jaskier said ruefully. “He isn’t an easygoing grader.”

The final two gifts were dispensed at the same time, and Lambert and Aiden tore into their packages to find twin daggers, balanced for combat, not throwing. 

Lambert admired the round stone set into the end. Geralt, trained in the same school, figured he was picturing bludgeoning someone with it.

“Twist it,” Jaskier suggested. Lambert gave it a go.

The stone on Aiden’s dagger glowed faintly. 

Aiden twisted his and Lamber’s glowed, both fading after a few seconds.

“To communicate?” Aiden asked.

Jaskier nodded shyly. “I thought…for when you separate on the Path.”

Lambert grinned at him, his smile all teeth. “It’s perfect, I’ll annoy him with it constantly.”

The table descended into cheerful bickering and Jaskier sat back, smiling. He looked at Geralt and a furrow laid itself on his brow.

“I should have given you a gift.”

Geralt looked at his cheerful family, thought of a song that made witchers’ lives easier like a magic spell, a companion. He thought of a cave full of stories, with his and Jaskier’s carved together.

“You have.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some history notes! Because I’m a nerd! Gawain of of Ymlac and Bertilak the Green are of course a reference to the Arthurian legend of Gawain and the Green Knight. 
> 
> Taliesin is also a reference to Arthurian legend, being a famous 6th century Welsh bard, one of the first bards we know of who told the tales of Arthur (although many of the stories are based in pagan sun god myth). Over centuries, the name Taliesin sometimes appears in Arthurian legend as another sorcerer, a wise sage, a poet, a demi-godly figure, or another name for Merlin. I picture Jaskier’s story sometime much later becoming something like Taliesin’s on the Continent.
> 
> Jaskier’s former professor is Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, a 13th century Persian poet.
> 
> Also, I couldn’t resist having our wolves greet eachother as such. It’s too cute and I’m taking this headcanon as canon. Permanently.


	20. First Christmas Together (Modern AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey I have a holiday prompt for you! What if it’s the pairing’s first holiday together and they stress about figuring out what to get each other? Any pairing you feel like! PS Reading your stuff never fails to put a smile on face!💜💜💜
> 
> Request from the-blondey on Tumblr

“Yen,” I swear,” Geralt panted into the phone. “It’s an emergency. Please, I need your help.”

“No.”

“Yen please I’m actually begging.”

“You should have thought to beg before Christmas Eve.”

“I’m meeting him tonight, Yennefer, I’m on Wilson Street, with all the shops and I’m so lost, please.”

“No.”

“I’ll set you up with Jaskier’s hot friend. The one from the coffee shop. She’s single.”

“…I’m on my way.”

– – – Across Town, Triss and Jaskier’s Apartment – – – 

“I just thought I’d have more time to get him a gift,” Jaskier wailed, draped dramatically over Triss’ beat up armchair. “And then it was thanksgiving, then finals and it’s Christmas eve and I don’t have a gift.”

“Well,” Triss said, sipping her cocoa and barely looking up from her book. “It’s not noon yet, shops aren’t all closed. What kind of gift does your relationship need?”

“What?” Jaskier looked up from his flop of despair, confused. 

“I mean, if you’d been dating for a month it would be slippers or some scotch or something.”

“We’ve been dating eight months though!” Jaskier wailed. “I love him, Trissy, desperately. I see his face and everything goes all pink and mushy.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“No, I mean,” Jaskier sat up and looked at her. “I think he could be the one. He might be it for me.”

Triss looked up from her book. She’d known Jaskier since university, and his heart had always been so mobile, but there was something shining in his eyes. She shrugged mentally. Put it down to a Christmas miracle, but Jaskier was really in love.

“What does he like?”

Jaskier huffed. “He likes being grumpy.”

“And?”

“Me.” He paused for thought. “His horse, Roach, he loves riding. He loves his goddaughter, and mythology.”

“Lord of the Rings nerd?”

“Oh you have no idea, he’s basically Aragorn if Aragorn had albinism.”

“I know a place,” Triss said, getting up. “Put on your coat.”

“Will it be open?” Jaskier asked anxiously, pulling his boots on.

“They live above the shop,” Triss said, throwing his scarf at him. “I know the owners, I’ll just shoot them a text.”

– – – Back on the other side of town – – –

“Okay,” Yennefer said. “And you’re sure the hot barista is single?”

“Triss,” Geralt said. “And yes, apparently she’s been crying about it to Jaskier for ages.”

“Right, let’s go looking,” Yennefer said, looking remarkably cheerful.

The rows of shops were mostly open for last minute shoppers and Geralt and Yennefer fought through them. 

Well, Geralt fought. Yennefer just glared and people moved out of her way. 

“Does he cook?” Yennefer asked, pointing at a cookware store.

“Ramen and box mac n cheese,” Geralt said.

“You said he likes clothes?” A very full store with what could only be called hipster clothing.

“He has lots of clothes I want something…special,” Geralt said. He was trying not to lose hope.

“You really like this one.”

“I do, you met him he’s just…bright,” Geralt said, mumbling a little into his scarf as the wind blew a flurry at him.

“Hey, look at the music shop on the corner,” Yenn said. “I’m down here all the time, I’ve never noticed it before.”

Neither had Geralt. “Is it new?” It didn’t look new. It looked nearly condemned.

“You said he loves music,” Yennefer said, stomping in the direction of the store.

“I dunno, that store looks…”

“He loves music,” she said. “And you love him.”

They entered the store.

– – – Triss and Jaskier – – –

“How the hell did you find this place?”

“I told you,” Triss said, matter of factly. “I know the owners. They’ll be down any minute to open it up.”

“They’re opening it up just for us?” Jaskier asked guiltily. It was Christmas eve after all.

“They owe me,” Triss said. “I introduced them. Well…reintroduced.”

“Welcome to The Sword in the Stone, Gifts and Novelties,” grinned a young man with very blue eyes and slightly large ears, opening the door. Behind him a blonde young man grinned cheerfully too, he was wearing a santa hat.

“Hi,” Jaskier said, stepping gratefully inside. “It’s a pleasure, I’m Jaskier.”

“Merlin,” said the young man who’d opened the door. 

“Arthur,” the blonde waved.

“Seriously?”

The pair just shrugged. Well, Jaskier, called Buttercup/Dandelion/Julian/a lot of other things, wasn’t about to tell people what to call themselves.

“I hear you need a gift for that special someone,” the blonde -Arthur- said, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, he loves fantasy stuff and I just… I don’t know what to get him.”

“Gotcha,” Arthur began to lead him back into the shop. Merlin and Triss were chatting by the door. 

“Were you thinking bigger, got a lovely cardboard cutout of Viggo Mortensen?”

Jaskier pictured Aragorn watching them have sex from the corner of Geralt’s little studio apartment. “Maybe smaller but kind of…niche?”

“Lucky you, this place if full of niche,” Arthur said cheerfully. 

Jaskier looked at the wall full of swords and was that a battle axe? “Yeah…”

“Does he wear jewelry?” asked Arthur, jingling a box full of metal in Jaskier’s direction.

“Not really,” Jaskier said. Then something caught his eye. “Wait…” he pulled something out of the box and held it up to the light.

Somehow…it was perfect.

“How much.”

– – – Yen and Geralt – – –

“This place looks closed,” Geralt whispered to Yennefer, looking around at the racks of instruments.

“Not closed dearie, just dusty,” came a cheerful voice from right behind Geralt. He and Yennefer jumped.

“Sorry honeys,” said a little old lady with coke bottle glasses. “Got my slippers on, makes me quiet. She shuffled one foot, clad in pink fluff, off the floor as exhibit A. “Gift from my great grandson, aren’t they darling? Now,” she looked at Geralt with laser intensity. “You’d be needing a gift.”

“Um, yes ma’am,” Geralt said. How had she known?

“Ooohoo you need a gift,” said the tiny old woman, “Cause you’s a boy in love.” She nearly cackled. “Follow me honeys!”

Geralt and Yennefer looked at each other, shrugged, and followed. What choice did they have?

“Got a harp,” the shopkeeper called cheerfully. It was indeed a full, standing, concert harp. It had a figurehead on it but the face looked absolutely agonized.

“Maybe not,” Geralt said.

“Hmmm no,” said the lady, shuffling her fluffy slippers. “Bagpipes?”

“He lives in an apartment.”

“That’ll be a no, then,” said the woman, peering at a rack of instruments in the corner. “Aha!” she shrieked, startling Geralt and Yennefer both. 

“This!”

It was perfect.

“I can’t afford it,” Geralt said, feeling hopeless.

“Oh yes you can,” said the little old lady gleefully, if she could Geralt got the sense she would be jumping and clicking her heels. “Nobody wants ‘em these days, this one’s seventy-five percent off!”

Geralt left with a weird shaped package.

– – – Geralt’s studio apartment, evening – – –

“Hey,” Jaskier, said, stomping his boots on the mat.

“Hi,” Geralt replied, stealing a kiss. “What’d you tell Triss?”

“Told her I was sending a gift, what’s you tell Yennefer?”

“She’s heading over there now,” Geralt said. “With that movie they both like.”

“Ocean’s 8?”

“That’s the one, and a plate of homemade Christmas cookies.”

Jaskier smiled at Geralt and stole another kiss. “We’re never going to have a moment of peace, now we set them up,” he said. Geralt grinned at him. “Never, but I think we did the right thing.”

They settled in on Geralt’s little loveseat. Jaskier set a wrapped present on the side table. Beside it, on the floor, was a very poorly wrapped mess. Lots of scotch tape was visible. It was quite large.

Jaskier felt panicky.

“Should we,” Geralt said awkwardly. “Do you want to exchange presents now?”

“Sure.” Oh god, Geralt’s gift was so small, and what if he hated it?

“You first?” Geralt said, handing over the odd package.

Jaskier had always been a rip-it-open present person, but he took his time, although there was no salvaging the taped up paper.

“A lute?” he turned to Geralt in delight, face lighting up.

“A lute,” Geralt said. “Is-is that a good thing?”

“Oh my god, Geralt, yes! Oh I love it! I can’t wait to learn it!” Jaskier dropped kisses all over Geralt’s face, careful of his new baby.

He handed Geralt the little package. “It’s not as great but…”

Geralt was a folding kind of person and folded up the wrapping paper carefully, then he opened the box and took out the amulet with the silver wolf’s head.

“Oh,” Geralt said.

Oh. Was that a good oh or a bad oh? Jaskier tried to breathe slowly.

“Jaskier I…” 

Oh no. He hated it.

“It’s perfect.”

What?

“When I was little I thought I’d be a knight,” Geralt said, pale eyes shining. “And I drew wolf’s heads on everything, my crest, I said.”

Geralt was holding up the amulet as if transfixed. 

“Vesemir can show you, he kept the drawings,” Geralt said. Then he slipped the medallion over his head.

“My knight,” Jaskier said. “My wolf.”

Geralt gave a playful growl. Jaskier’s heart thumped a little harder. Geralt must have picked up on something in his eyes because he cocked his head.

“Oh?” he rumbled, low in his chest. “You want a wolf, do you?” He growled again.

Jaskier leapt up, shrieking with laughter and ran to hide in the bathroom. Geralt caught up before he could close the door.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff,” he said, dragging Jaskier closer and giving him a bear hug. He growled in Jaskier’s ear.

“And I’ll blow your…how does it go?”

“I’m not sure, wolfie,” Jaskier said, pulling Geralt closer by the amulet. “But I think it ends with you eating me all up.”

It was a very merry Christmas indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ope! Idiots! With a random appearance from BBC’s Merlin (In 2020? I guess.) and a little old lady. + the magic of christmas.


	21. Lambden Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon Request   
> "I have a prompt request if you’re feeling up to it. Next weekend is my birthday so could I possibly get some lambert x Aiden fluff pretty please 🥺. Your writing is always amazing and I love seeing you pop up on my dash 💖."

“Darling, you’re just staring at that page,” Aiden said. “Your eyes aren’t even moving, what’s up?”

“Dim light, read it out to me,” Lambert grunted, pushing the beastiary page at Aiden. His boyfriend had found it in the Kaer Morhen library and wanted his opinion but…

“Puppy,” Aiden said, his special pet name for Lambert that he always growled at (but secretly loved) “Lamb, can you read?”

“Can read fine,” Lambert grunted, getting up from the bench and sitting on the rug in front of the fire. Aiden followed him, stretching out languidly and draping himself into his wolf’s lap like, well, like a cat.

“Lamb, it’s okay that you can’t read,” Aiden said softly.

“Can read, most things. Village postings. That’s…” Lambert trailed off. “’s got all long words and I don’t– I never learned–”

Aiden curled up from Lambert’s lap and kissed him, petting a hand back through his hair. 

“I would love you if you could read a menu in thirty languages, and I’d love you if you couldn’t read a single word, puppy. You must know that.”

“I do,” Lambert said, burying his face in Aiden’s neck. “But I want to be great, you make me want to be perfect.”

“If I wanted perfect I’d go fuck a statue.”

They sat curled up by the fire, Lambert looking into the flames while Aiden rested his head in his lap. He scratched behind his boyfriend’s ears like he truly was a cat and chuckled when he heard the rumbling purr begin.

“Do you want me to teach you to read this winter?” Aiden asked, nuzzling back into Lambert’s hand.

“…that would be nice.” 

“You’re an idiot and a cocksucker,” Aiden said fondly. “Not because of that.”

“No,” Lambert replied, digging his cold fingers under Aiden’s shirt to make his boyfriend yelp. “I know I’m not a cocksucker because I can’t read. I’m a cocksucker because…” he leaned down to whisper into Aiden’s ear. The cat witcher threw his head back and laughed. 

“Later, perhaps,” he said. Then he kissed Lambert, sitting up in his lap and facing him.

“I adore you.” A kiss.

“Stoppit,” Lambert said.

“I love you,” another kiss.

“Aiden,” Lambert was basically whining.

“You’re beautiful,” Aiden said, kissing one cheek. “And brave,” the other cheek.

“I’ll throw you out into the snow,” Lambert warned. 

“You won’t,” Aiden said, peppering kisses across Lambert’s hooked nose. “You love me.” A kiss to Lambert’s forehead, right between his furrowed brows.

“I do,” Lambert whispered and he kissed Aiden squarely on the lips. “You complete and utter git.” He took his turn placing more kisses on Aiden’s face. 

“You sod,” he said, with a kiss on the chin. “You bellend.”

“You love my bellend.”

“Mmh I do,” Lambert said. “You knob,” a kiss. “You bastard,” another. “Son of a whore and a drowner,” that earned him a chuckle from Aiden and he bestowed in return a long, sweet kiss. 

It turned dirty though, it always did. Still. The love was pure, even if they were far from it.


	22. Geraskier Bodysharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon asked "Ah you said your inbox was open? The bodyswap prompt you did a bit ago was amazing. You know what's even more uncomfortable: bodysharing. Double the shenanigans in half the body count"

“Geralt, look at us!”

Jaskier spun the-their-body in the mirror, pausing and looking over their shared shoulder at their ass. Dark hair, curly, with blue eyes and a little cleft in the chin. Jaskier’s coloring, Geralt’s body. Jaskier’s chest hair and long, clever fingers, Geralt’s witcher senses.

“We look…different,” Geralt said with their mouth. It was like seeing what might have been if he hadn’t been a witcher. There was also a weirdly…crowded feeling. Two souls in one body weren’t meant to coinhabit. It was like having Jaskier read something over his shoulder, while he was also reading over Jaskier’s. 

“We need to find a mage,” Jaskier said. “I feel like my clothes are too tight, but it’s our skin.” He did a weird little wiggle with their body, very much as if he were in tight pants.

They walked out into the street. 

“Yen’s never far from you,” Jaskier whispered. “I heard there was a mage here, if we’re lucky it’ll be Triss, who won’t laugh as much. If we’re unlucky it’s…”

“Hello boys.”

Damn. It was Yennefer.

“Help us,” Geralt grunted. 

She raised one perfect eyebrow.

“Please,” he said. 

“Follow me.”

Left without a choice and feeling, metaphorically, like two people doing a three legged race, but with there souls, Geralt and Jaskier, as one Geraskier, followed. 

They made it to Yennefer’s current mansion, wherever she’d gotten it, it was nice. They sat on a very nice couch, and the feeling was weirdly similar to when two people accidentally sat too close and sit half in one another’s lap.

Oh. Don’t think about Jaskier sitting in his lap. Don’t do it. If Geralt got a stiffy in their shared body Jaskier would obviously notice. On the other hand, he really, really couldn’t imagine sitting in Jaskier’s lap. That would be…would be unthinkable. 

Geralt shook himself, unfortunately, this meant that he shook their whole body.

“What’s up,” Jaskier whispered. 

“’M fine,” Geralt grunted back, with the same mouth.

“So, I’m not gonna help you,” Yennefer said, examining her nails. She didn’t need to examine them, the black lacquer was unchipped.

“Why not,” Jaskier whined. 

“Because this is something you two,” Yennefer swirled one glamorous finger at their collective face. “Need to figure out.”

“Being stuck mysteriously in the same body? We’re just supposed to ‘figure that out’” Jaskier said.

“Hmm, yep. See, there’s been extra deposits of baseline magic in this area. That’s why I’m here. It makes any magical creatures go haywire and act super threatening, that’s why Geralt is here. And you’re here because…well, because Geralt is here, duh. The way I see it, something must be messing with your friendship dynamic enough that the background magic picked it up.”

“And ‘talking it out’ will fix that?”

Geralt closed his metaphorical eyes. He knew what was wrong. Three weeks ago Jaskier had gotten drunk and had kissed Geralt. It had been warm and soft and Jaskier had trailed those lovely, long fingers through Geralt’s hair and, most importantly, Geralt had kissed him back. A kiss, nothing more.

Then in the morning, well.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Jaskier had said, looking up at him, well, squinting up at him because of the hangover. 

And Geralt had looked him in those honest, beautiful blue eyes and said, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

And they hadn’t.

Jaskier had been less talkative in general lately. At first Geralt had thought Jaskier was getting sick. He was human after all, or mostly human, half-elf, whatever. It wasn’t that though, Jaskier had just seemed…sadder. Which edged on Geralt’s nerves until Geralt was more snappish because he knew, he knew he’d made Jaskier sad.

“I’m sorry we kissed,” Jaskier said. Unfortunately, at the same time, Geralt said “I want to kiss you again.”

Since they were using the same mouth, this came out as a garbled. “Iwannasorrkissgain.”

“You first,” Geralt said.

“I’m sorry we kissed,” Jaskier said, with their mouth. 

Oh, Jaskier wished it hadn’t happened. Of course he did, he’d been tipsy and Geralt had kissed him back instead of putting him gently in bed. Geralt had stopped as soon as he’d tasted alcohol on Jaskier’s lips but of course, of course Jaskier regretted it.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said. He wasn’t about to lie and say he was sorry about the kiss, it would probably stay his favorite memory until something erased the knowledge of how Jaskier’s lips felt against his.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jaskier said, which was weird because it was still in their melded voice. “I shouldn’t have kissed you, you weren’t expecting it and I didn’t ask first.”

“You were drunk.”

“Barely tipsy.”

“I’m sorry for the kiss,” Geralt said, sighing. “But I’m sorry because I want to kiss you again.”

“I want to kiss you again.”

“This is confusing to watch but please,” Yennefer said. “Keep going, though, it’s just getting good.” She popped a grape into her mouth.

“I have been crazy for you since just the first day I met you,” Jaskier said. “And now I really, really, wish we were back in our own bodies so I could kiss you.”

Geralt looked down at their shared lap. 

“I thought that talk would fix this…?”

“Nah,” Yennefer said. “I need to sort out this extra magic field, it’ll take me another couple hours. I just wanted you two to deal with all…this.”

She swept off, leaving Jaskier and Geralt sitting, combined, on the couch. Jaskier used their body to lounge across the cushions. 

“What are you-we doing?” Geralt said, feeling his whole body lounge without his brain deciding to do it.

“Stretching out,” Jaskier said, matter of factly. “We have to wait.”

“We have to take a piss,” Geralt said.

If one were to overhear the next conversation all between one voice and happening in the outhouse behind Yennefer’s borrowed mansion, it would have gone something like this:

“Wow, Geralt is it this big normally?”

“Yeah, Jaskier that’s, that’s its normal size.”

“It just seems so much bigger now that it’s actually in my hand.”

“Our hand, here, let me have most of the control here, you aren’t used to swords.” Geralt chopped the lock off the outhouse, since Yennefer hadn’t seen fit to give them a key. There was probably an in-house privy, but Geralt and Jaskier, as one man with a very full bladder, had decided not to go searching.

They took care of business and returned to Yennefer’s drawing room. Jaskier lounged their body again.

“So,” he said. “You love me then?”

“Yes, but the first time I say those words I’d rather we were each back in our own bodies,” Geralt said. Jaskier nodded with their head.

“There are a couple other things we could do, you know, back in our own bodies. This place must have at least four bedrooms, Yennefer can spare at least one,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt didn’t respond because of the blinding headache. It was as if his head was being cleaved in two. 

He blinked his eyes open and stared into Jaskier’s confused face. Jaskier was still lounged on the couch, but Geralt, back as himself, was lounged rather…on top of Jaskier.

He stared down at his bard.

“I love you,” he said.

“Excellent,” Jaskier said, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s shoulders, getting a little grabby as he did so. “Ditto. Now let’s go find that bedroom.” Geralt rather liked this angle, the perfect view of Jaskier’s cheeky smile, access to his lips and that tempting neck and the triangle of chest hair…

“I’m not going anywhere,” Geralt growled, dipping down for a kiss.

Jaskier gasped for breath after. “Yen,” he said. “Won’t be pleased.”

“This is what she wanted,” Geralt replied between kisses, working his way behind Jaskier’s ear and down his neck. “She can deal with the consequences.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that combined Geraskier looks like young Henry Cavill


	23. Truth Spell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeysuckletook on Tumblr asked  
> "Its ridiculously late and the weather hates me. So instead of sleeping I'm bringing all your fics. May I request mutual pining, jaskier and geralt both pining after each other. Giving each other pining looks when the other isn't looking. Yen being powerful sorceress and their friend, is tired of it....so truth spell? And maybe throw in eskel and lambert and truth or dare? Feel free to play around with the idea as much as you want. I just need more idiots to lovers with jaskier and geralt"

“You said you’d tell him how you feel before you leave for the keep this year.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said, sinking further into the bath of Yennefer’s current borrowed (stolen) house.

“Oh no,” she said. “None of that bullshit. I’ve been watching the two of you make cow’s eyes at one another for a decade now. I’ve had enough.”

She stood and kicked a bucket of cold water into Geralt’s bath. He grunted unhappily.

“I have an appointment in Temeria,” she said. “You’ll have the house to yourself for a few days.”

“You have a hookup with Triss, you mean,” Geralt growled, fishing the bucket from the bath.

“Not a hookup, thank you, but yes, we have a date, so you’ll have plenty of time to Talk. To. Him.”

“Hmmm.” 

“You know what? No. Fine.” Yennefer pulled a little bottle with a violently orange liquid inside from thin air, and then tipped the entirety of the bottle into Geralt’s bath.

“You’ll have to talk to him now,” she said. “I’m off, don’t fuck in my bed.”

Geralt sat, dumbstruck, in the bath for another quarter of an hour as the water cooled around him. He didn’t feel any different.

“Geralt have you seen Yen?” Jaskier poked his head in.

“Gone,” Geralt said. It seemed to fly from his mouth without his permission.

“Oh,” Jaskier said. “Well, do you need me to wash your hair?”

“No.”

“Oh, okay,” Jaskier said. “I’ll just–”

“I want you to wash my hair though,” Geralt’s mouth said without any input from his brain. 

Damn. Damn damn damn. Truth spell.

“Ah.” Jaskier blushed. “Of course I’d be happy to. Do you know what oil you’d like?”

“Chamomile,” Geralt’s mouth answered almost before he’d registered the question.

“Of course. You always prefer that one, is it because it’s less harsh?” Jaskier said idly as he took off his doublet and rolled up his sleeves, selecting the bottle of oil from a handy shelf.

“It’s the scent you wore in Posada,” Geralt said, then he dunked himself under the water to avoid saying the rest. ‘And it always makes me think of you. My shirts still smell of it when you’re gone.’

“Thanks for wetting your hair for me,” Jaskier said, sitting at the edge of the tub and dipping his feet in, trousers rolled up. “Although I can’t imagine it was pleasant.”

Geralt scooted backwards so that his shoulders rested between Jaskier’s calves. Jaskier poured a little oil into a palm and then began to spread the oil into Geralt’s hair, gently working out knots. 

Jaskier’s thumb rubbed pleasantly behind Geralt’s ear and he let out an involuntary groan.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier said. “Are you hurt? Geralt you have to tell me if you have a head wound.”

“No,” Geralt said, mouth moving traitorously against his wishes. He was tethered too, he couldn’t dunk himself without soaking Jaskier too. “I’m not hurt, it feels good,” he said.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jaskier said a little shyly.

“I like you,” Geralt said, face burning as he did so.

“Geralt, that’s not nice, you don’t get to play like that, it’s not fair.”

“I’m not playing,” Geralt said, disentangling himself from Jaskier’s hands and standing, turning to face his bard. “Yennefer dosed me with a truth potion because I’ve been taking too long to tell you I love you.”

“Oh,” Jaskier said, blushing heavily. “I, well, I’m sure you know but I love you too.”

“I know, I’ve just been a coward,” Geralt, assisted by truth serum, said.

“You know, this is a very important conversation,” Jaskier said, eyes significantly lower than Geralt’s face. “But you are very naked and I havent finished bathing you.”

“You should get in the bath then, I want you to wash me a little more thoroughly,” Geralt said, one hundred percent truthfully.


	24. Geralt x Yennefer x Jaskier Modern AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeysuckletook on Tumblr asked  
> "I know I already asked for a prompt if you have time I would love to see more stories of the ot3 of yen, geralt and jaskier as a poly relationship because i think they all deserve love and jaskier being in the realtionship romantically could help yennefer and geralt learn to be better about talking about their emotions. If you don't want to write this prompt that's ok. Love all of your writing anyways. 🤗"

Yennefer turned over and make a warm, happy noise. Her flat was lavish, and she was of course always comfortable. She bought the best to ensure it was so. Nevertheless, it was always nicer to wake up to a full bed.

Very full. Despite having bought a California King bed, both Geralt and Jaskier slept like starfish. 

Still nice to wake up to both of them though. 

Geralt usually liked to get up early to drive out to the horse barn and ride Roach, and Jaskier was often out so late at gigs and various musical events that he came home well into morning. But it was Sunday morning, and they were both there, and she had a ten dollar off Grubhub coupon. 

The crepe place four blocks over did delivery.

She settled back in for another twenty minutes of laying, being pleasantly squished, between her two lovers. She extracted herself reluctantly to answer the door in Geralt’s shirt and Jaskier’s boxers. 

The slightly scandalized delivery driver walked away with a good tip just as Geralt slipped behind her and kissed her shoulder where his shirt was slipping down. He was wearing only his boxers, the ones Jaskier had bought as a joke, with “bounce a coin off that” printed on the ass.

Yennefer turned and kissed him, setting the delivery bag down. Geralt hummed contentedly and slipped his hands under the waistband of Jaskier’s boxers to grab to handfuls of skin. She nipped his lip for it, playfully.

Jaskier, in true fashion, walked up entirely naked but for the smudged eyeliner he’d worn the night before, and smacked Geralt’s ass.

“Hmmpf,” Geralt said. He rose early often, but wasn’t vocal until at least noon.

“Don’t growl at me, darling,” Jaskier said. “I just can’t help myself, it’s like paperclips to a magnet.”

With that he greeted Yennefer with a low, dramatic dip and a kiss that thoroughly stole her breath. 

“I made breakfast,” she said when she was back upright. She lifted the bag.

“Mmm La Vie en Rose, my love you spoil us,” Jaskier said, finding the box inside marked ‘choco-banana w/nutella’.

Yennefer smiled. She liked spoiling the people she loved. She handed Geralt his ham and egg savory crepe and put on the coffee. 

“What’d you get, Yen? Raspberry white chocolate?” Jaskier asked, mouth full.

“Mmhmm,” she said, pressing the button on the Mr. Coffee.

“Extra raspberry sauce?” Geralt said, perking up surprisingly quickly. There was a tilt to his smile that Yennefer recognized too. It made certain, significant parts of her twist pleasantly. 

“Oh no,” Jaskier said. We’re not trying that again. It took me forever to get that out of my chest hair too.”

Geralt picked up the little container of raspberry sauce and slunk towards Yennefer. “I wasn’t going to eat it off of you.”


	25. Jaskier Flirts by Getting Naked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dahliavandare on Tumblr asked  
> "Fluffy prompt for your consideration: significantly pre-mountain, none of Jaskier’s weird flirting is working on Geralt, so he decides to try making flimsy excuses to be naked around him. Is Geralt secretly also in to Jaskier? Yes. Does the bard’s ridiculous ploy work? Up to you."

“Uh oh.”

Geralt’s head whips up. He’s only had the bard for three months (and indeed that’s how he thinks of it, having the bard, like a puppy. Or a disease) and already he knows the extent of his distress noises by heart. 

The lad is clumsy, has no sense of self preservation, and is somehow a magnet for luck even worse than Geralt’s own. This time, however, he hasn’t accidentally enraged a griffin or slept with a demi god’s husband so…not too urgent.

“Hmmm.” Geralt says. It’s a question, almost.

“I’ve got something caught in my eye,” the bard simpers. It’s an odd change in tone from the bard’s usual mode when complaining, but apparently it’s the truth. Jaskier is certainly batting those long, dark eyelashes quite a lot.

He’s also staring, quite intently at Geralt, lashes still fluttering, and biting his lip. Geralt rises from his place and take’s Jaskier’s face in his hands.

The boy’s face flushes and he looks stunned, leaning in to the touch a little. He looks stunned.

Geralt stares into the big, blue eyes, leans in closer…then says “I don’t see anything, just keep blinking, it’ll work it’s way out.”

Jaskier seems to pout next to Geralt, staring at the fire after that. 

Geralt isn’t sure why eventually the bard says, “Fuck it, plan B,” under his breath.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Geralt is going insane. It’s Jaskier’s fault because apparently the bard went mad first, but he’s going to drag Geralt right down into insanity with him.

It started with the…Geralt had to take a deep breath when he recalled…ankles.

Cropped pants were in fashion and suddenly Jaskier took great pleasure in walking about their campsites without boots or socks and leaving just lovely, surprisingly delicate ankles exposed. Exposed where anyone, just casually, could look. 

It was scandalous. 

And really, when presented with something so, so gauche as ankles being exposed like that, how could Geralt be expected not to stare.

Then there was the shirts. 

Jaskier was averse to buttoning his doublet all the way, a habit which featured prominently in Geralt’s dreams and had leant considerably to Geralt’s new habit of very cold baths. 

Now though, it wasn’t just the doublets. Jaskier removed them around camp of course. They were fine cloth and getting them dusty wouldn’t do, and they would be no use to chop wood or start a fire. Geralt didn’t mind their removal, so long as Jaskier still wore his chemise there was nothing untoward.

Except the chemises were getting…thin. Very thin. So thin that the careful (or just witcher-enhanced) eye could see through the wispy material to the skin, and chest hair, beneath. Jaskier was also leaving them unlaced lower and that…that was not good for Geralt’s mental state. 

Once the fabric had slipped off of one, surprisingly muscled shoulder and the stake Geralt was sharpening had broken in his hand. 

That had all been bad, but this was so, so much worse.

“It’s simply too hot, Geralt,” Jaskier was saying. It was indeed very hot. Geralt was sweating, which was difficult for witcher’s to do. Some of that was due, however, to his traveling partner. 

Who was naked.

He wasn’t all the way naked, but they’d stopped at mid day and decided to go no further that day. Roach needed a rest and this meadow campsite by a clear, cool stream seemed so perfect. And then Jaskier had taken off his shirt. 

Geralt’s knees had felt funny then, that was bad enough. But the bard, sweating in the heat and skin gleaming, had removed his trousers. 

Geralt stared, transfixed, as utterly immobile as if Jaskier was a basilisk. 

“I’m just going to go for a dip in the stream,” Jaskier said. 

Yep, cold water. Yep, yeah, Geralt needed some of that himself. 

“I should probably stretch out a little first,” the bard was saying. “I feel so stiff from walking in all this heat.”

Then Jaskier bent over, much slower than Geralt expected from a man stretching, so that he touched his toes. In nothing but his smallclothes.

Geralt’s slow heart was racing. He felt hot. Was it sunstroke?

Jaskier rose, arching his back, then stretching his arms over his head.

“Mmmh,” he said, somewhat exaggeratedly. “Doesn’t that feel,” his voice dropped a little. “So good.”

He sauntered towards Geralt, for some reason moving his hips too much. It looked…nice. But Geralt wasn’t sure what purpose it served. Maybe the bard’s hips were stiff too. 

“You look awfully hot, Geralt,” Jaskier said.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. 

“You should join me for a swim.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt repeated, but it was affirmative this time. A cold swim was just what he needed. And no drowners could get his-the bard this way. 

Geralt didn’t undress much, the water would be cold and the sun could dry his clothes, he simply divested himself of his boots and socks. Jaskier, though…

“I think a swim will be much nicer without these, don’t you?”

Geralt looked up.

Just in time to see Jaskier slip off his smallclothes and slide into the water. 

“Geralt, come join me.”

More than eighty years of propriety snapped like a twig and Geralt joined Jaskier in the water. Geralt joined Jaskier vigorously, in fact and multiple times.

Jaskier, when he could walk again, grinned like the cat that got the cream as he crossed “Plan B: Get Naked” out in his journal.


	26. Fake Relationship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baneside on Tumblr asked  
> "Prompt: fake realtionahip/marriage, whoever you like!"

The funny thing about Geralt, Jaskier thought as he did up the buttons on his best doublet, was that he really didn’t lie. He said things that weren’t true, but they were usually things he believed, or thought he believed because he was tired or grumpy. Sometimes he told half truths. He didn’t lie though.

It wasn’t even as if he didn’t have a poker face, Geralt’s face was all poker face, he just hated lying. Normally it wasn’t an issue, but tonight, Jaskier reflected, it wouldn’t be ideal.

Jaskier had heard through some whispered words at a pub that a bunch of Nilfgaardian nobles were having a gala, and the temptation of finding out what political secrets they could was two strong for their odd little family. So Geralt and Jaskier were going undercover.

There had been quite a bit of debate about that. Jaskier was obviously going. He’d grown his hair longer and had a bit of scruff going, and to be frank, all a bard really needed to disguise themselves was a new name, people saw the clothing and heard the music, but rarely remembered the face. Yennefer would have been the ideal partner in crime except for a crucial thing.

When Yennefer had been changed by magic, her eyes had been left the same. Somehow, the transformation had solidified them, and no spell would change them. Her eyes were too distinctive, and so she would stay behind with Ciri. That left Geralt, and since the ball was only for the nobility, he would be the fiance of Julian Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.

Damn.

See, Geralt didn’t lie, and that was bad enough. Jaskier wouldn’t be able to rely on Yennefer’s in-depth knowledge of the nobility and that was worse. Worst of all though, was the fact that Jaskier would have to spend a night full of wine and dancing pretending to be in love with, and engaged to, Geralt. Who he loved.

And who had, not three months ago, blamed Jaskier for every bad thing in life.

Since then Geralt had caught up with him half-way down the mountain and there had been some grumbled words about how Jaskier ‘wasn’t actually, exactly, a total curse’. Not a glowing review, but then Cintra had fallen, and they had Cirilla and they’d found a wounded Yennefer and it had all gotten so very busy.

Jaskier cast a last look in the mirror as the door to his room creaked open. He turned, expecting Geralt, but it was Yennefer.

“I suppose,” she said, eyeing him. “That this is as good as you get.” It could have been said cruelly. A year ago it would have been. Now, though, the words were fond. 

“I like the kohl, it goes well with the wrinkles at your eyes,” she winked. He smiled. There were no more wrinkles now than had been twenty years ago, and they both knew it.

“I wasn’t sure about the eyeliner,” Jaskier said, trying to sound haughty. “Overdramatic eye looks are your thing.”

Yennefer chuckled and sat on the end of the bed. “A tiny smudge of eyeliner is hardly overdramatic.” She studied him approvingly, then looked at him. Her expression was frighteningly soft.

“Have you told him that you love him?”

“Never,” Jaskier said, fiving his cravat in the mirror.

“Why ever not?”

“It would only be the mountain all over again,” Jaskier sighed. “I tried, you know. I spent years trying, and then on the mountain, I thought I was being clear…”

“What did you say?”

“I asked him to leave it all, just for a little while, with me. I thought we could go to the coast.”

“The coast,” Yennefer said from her spot on the bed. “As in Lettenhove? You wanted to show him where you grew up?”

“Partially. I could explain the immortality business easier if he met my sister, but mostly I just thought it would be peaceful.”

Yennefer snorted. “With Geralt? Peaceful? He’d spend the whole time fighting drowners and telling you not to write about mermaids because they’re vicious.”

Jaskier smiled wanly. “That’s pretty peaceful for him.”

“But he said no?”

“He didn’t say anything,” Jaskier said. “Then he, well, you know, he spent the night in your tent.”

“Ah,” Yennefer said. “For what it’s worth, I hate that it happened too.”

“He doesn’t though!” Jaskier cried, whirling around to face her. “He wants it to happen again! And you! You don’t want him but he wants you while I want him!” The frustration of the whole situation and nerves for what was to come were overwhelming. “And you’re here, trying to help me,” he said more quietly. “Why?”

“Because I like you,” Yennefer said, simply, standing from the bed. “And I like him. I also never, ever want to kiss him again. The djinn is sitting, somewhere in my chest, telling me I love him, but the feeling is…sick. It feels like love, as well as I can remember, but it’s poisoned and twisted and I want no part in it.”

Her purple eyes pinned Jaskier to the floor.

“And that poison pales in comparison to how much you love him. He deserves that.”

She swept out the door, tossing a “Sort it out,” over her shoulder.

Well.

The next knock at the door was Geralt, Ciri in tow. Jaskier hoped the witcher hadn’t heard any part of his and Yennefer’s conversation, but he suspected that no one overheard conversations that Yen didn’t want them too. 

“Dandelion!” Ciri said, leaping at him and using the name she’d first met him under. “You look nice! Like a prince in one of your stories!”

Jaskier blushed and thanked her quietly as he scooped her up and tossed her, laughing, onto the bed. 

He looked at Geralt for his opinion.

Oh he looked so good too. Yennefer had charmed him so that anyone else would see a different man in Geralt’s place, but to Jaskier he looked just the same. But he was wearing white. 

A white chemise, the collar and cuffs with fine red embroidery, with a cream colored cape, half length so it fell just to Geralt’s hips. It was embroidered too, green and pink and so many other colors, despite being overall still mostly cream. The pants were the same creamy fabric with a stripe down each side. Dark boots and a wide, decorative, dark belt completed the look.

“Wow,” Jaskier said.

“Rivian traditional clothing,” Geralt muttered. 

“I thought you’d hardly actually been to Rivia,” Jaskier said,.It was a better choice than the other thoughts in his head, which were half-formed screams about how absolutely skin tight those pants were.

“I haven’t been, but my…character is.”

“Right,” Jaskier said, dragging his eyes above Geralt’s shoulders. “My fiance, Ludomir of Rivia.”

Geralt said nothing.

Jaskier kicked himself for mentioning the fiance thing.

“We should go,” he said.

And they went.

The lord’s castle was small, as castles go, and the guards at the gate didn’t even bother to check their invitations. With all the other lords and ladies streaming past, no one would guess that the pair were out of place. Jaskier and Geralt enterred the ballroom and Jaskier felt his stomach drop straight through to his shoes.

The walls were positively lined with Nilfgaardian soldiers. Geralt’s shoulders stiffened too, but they steered themselves to a feast table as if nothing was wrong.

It took them almost a full circle of the tables to find the two little cards for ‘Viscount de Lettenhove’ and ‘Guest’. Getting onto the guest list had been laughably easy, and Jaskier just sent up a silent prayer of thanks that the stupid title was finally useful for something.

They sat in their places and guests populated the seats around them. There was a lady next to Jaskier who already smelled of the strongly alcoholic sherry that was being served. Her hair, probably a wig towered, and was strung all over with so many pearls and little tiny golden ornaments that when she stepped outside she must surely be attacked by magpies.

“My lady,” Jaskier said, as chivalrous as he could around a mouthful of her rose perfume. “I’m afraid we haven’t had a chance to be introduced.”

“Oooh,” she giggled, “You’re sweet, I’m Dame Au’Vigne, and I can see by your card that you are the Viscount de Lettenhove, I knew your father.”

Yes, Jaskier thought. I remember, he turned down your proposal. Jaskier had been a lad then, barely eight years old, but he remembered through a child’s eyes a mountain of lace and perfume who had offered to marry his father while actually at his mother’s funeral.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said. Heinous bitch, he thought. He remembered rumors too, which are always a bard’s stock and trade, that Dame Au’Vigne’s husbands were always wealthy, usually handsome, and all of them had shockingly short lifespans. 

Rumor also had it that she was backing Nilfgaard financially and had been playing the shipping stock with insider knowledge of their movements. A very good person to be seated next to tonight. 

“May I introduce my fiance, Ludomir of Rivia,” Jaskier said, gesturing to Geralt. Geralt nodded and hummed, somewhat politely.

“How handsome,” Dame Au’Vigne stage whispered. “Where ever did you find him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jaskier said.

The lord of the castle stood up and gave a droning speech. It was full of euphemisms about ‘upholding standards’ and ‘fostering strong relations’ that boiled down to ‘I’m an untrustworthy bastard who believes that allowing the deaths of my people en masse is fine so long as I make money.’ It was depressing, too, as Jaskier looked around the ballroom to see so many people nodding in agreement. 

Traitors and bastards, the lot of them.

Geralt’s face hadn’t changed even an inch.

“So,” Dame Au’Vigne said as the appetizer course was served. “You two aren’t exactly in a honeymoon phase, are you?”

And she was right, for a couple, newly engaged, Jaskier and Geralt hadn’t acted the part yet at all.

“I’m afraid,” Jaskier said, inventing wildly. “That we’re both just a touch nervous, the engagement is so new, you see, and this is our first event,” he took Geralt’s hand, above the table, so Dame Au’Vigne could see. “As a couple.”

“Oh how sweet,” she said airily. “You know, they’ll have dancing between the courses, it’ll be a great way for you to wet your social feet. Sir Erdin and the lady in the lavender dress,” she pointed across the ballroom. “They’re newly engaged as well.” She lowered her voice.

“Sir Erdin is very supportive of the cause, word has it he’s in with the very inner circle,” Dame Au’Vigne giggled, as if being in the inner circle of a murderous group of intruders was as delightful as a recent engagement.

“How interesting!” Jaskier said, affecting a jealous and impressed tone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Geralt’s eyebrow twitch, the way it did when he was listening hard.

“Oh yes,” Dame Au’Vigne said. “And Lord Snapcase, in the corner, he…” and she went on, was the marvelous thing, she couldn’t seem to help herself but gossip about everyone. And she had all these details about how they were helping ‘the cause’. Destiny must have finally decided to throw Jaskier and Geralt a bone.

Then the appetizer course was finished and Jaskier felt much less lucky. Dame Au’Vigne was ushering him and Geralt out of their seats to dance. It wasn’t one of the quick, hopping around, switching partners dances either. No, the band seemed insistent on only slow, romantic music. 

Awkwardly, Geralt slid one large hand around Jaskier’s waist and they turned in slow circles on the dance floor. The witcher’s face looked like a thunderclap.

“Try and look like you’re having fun, darling,” Jaskier said. Please don’t look at me as though holding me is torture, his inner self begged.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. Jaskier leaned in.

“Really dear heart,” he leaned in even closer, lips almost touching Geralt’s ear. “People are going to suspect something,” he said in the barest of whispers.

“Let them,” Geralt hissed back in the same fashion. “We’ve got the information, we can leave.” 

Jaskier, keeping up appearances, tossed his head back and let out a delighted shriek of laughter, as if Geralt had just told him a joke or, perhaps, made a wonderfully indecent proposal.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, stage-whispering for the sake of those around them. Leaning in again he whispered for real, “We can’t leave until the party’s over, no one else will, they’d send some of those soldiers after us for sure.”

The music changed, and Geralt and Jaskier’s slow circles changed speed with it. 

Geralt hissed in his ear again, “I don’t see why I had to be your,” this close Jaskier could see Geralt’s jaw working with distaste. “Lover.”

“Fiance,” Jaskier said, trying not to let his heart sink. It couldn’t possibly go any lower. “There’s a difference.”

They said no more to each other, and after the second dance, declined the third to sit back at their seats and await the arrival of the soup course.

The man sat beside Geralt was some old military man, mostly mustache and the rest of him was a rather musty and very old fashioned uniform. It had gold braid and a colonel’s insignia. The hat that sat next to his chair had a plume. 

He leaned over to Geralt and said, rather loudly, in a voice that implied tone deafness, to both volume and social situations, “Just marrying him for the money, eh?”

People to both sides of Jaskier and Geralt looked around. Dame Au’Vigne looked at them askance.

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. It was a negative answer to the colonel’s question, but the man didn’t take it as such.

“Often is the way,” the man nearly bellowed. “My missus hated me right up to the day she died.”

Jaskier curled in on himself. The role of Viscount wasn’t a big one, mostly administrative and, these days, completed by his sister Rowena, who was better at sitting behind a desk. Still, argued a battered part of his long ago but still proper upbringing. The name of Pankratz was being dragged through the mud. Lots of these people would know the name too, these sour, vindictive, unpleasant, murderous people. And they’d know the gossip, would have taken part in the gossip about ‘Young Julian running off to be a bard,’ (this generally said with the same tone as is usually leant to slave trader) and how ‘he’ll never find a good marriage now,’ how he was ‘a disgrace to the name.’ 

And here was their long awaited confirmation. Jaskier-Julian, couldn’t find a good marriage, was being wed only for his money. Of course, more than half the pairings here were only in it for the money, but to have it said, so loudly too, and before the wedding had even happened, it was social condemnation.

Jaskier looked down at the table cloth, his face hot. He’d faced social condemnation before, of course, he’d survive. What hurt was that Geralt wasn’t really protesting, Geralt couldn’t even pretend to like Jaskier, not for a single evening. Twenty years he’d done a good enough job of acting to convince even Jaskier, mostly, apart from the punches and the insults and…maybe Jaskier had been a little blind to the truth but still. 

It was ruining their cover though, so he protested quietly. “Not just for the money,” he said, patting Geralt’s hand where one fist wrapped around his goblet. “My fiance is just shy, that’s all.”

The damage was already done, but the old colonel hiccupped. “Well lad,” he said, giving Geralt a slap on the back. “This ale’s pretty good so drink up. Got me through three years of happy marriage, strong ale did.” The man took a slug of his own drink. “And fourty seven more unhappy years.” He guffawed hugely and unpleasantly, little drops of ale flinging from his mustache. 

Wherever the soul of the unpleasant man’s dead wife was, Jaskier felt sure she was happy to be away from this miserable old drunk.

Geralt, however, was looking at Jaskier. Their eyes met. Jaskier knew he probably looked as hunted as he felt, and his cheeks were probably still burning from the embarassment. Still, it seemed as though Geralt was about to say something. His golden eyes were full of emotion, but Jaskier couldn’t parse out what kind. 

Whatever kind it was, it caused Geralt to take the colonel’s advice and drink like there was no tomorrow. 

Great. Jaskier had driven his companion to drinking. 

He felt a little like doing so himself. 

The soup course was good, hot and savory, but underspiced. Geralt slurped it up gratefully. Jaskier knew that rich food was usually too much for his senses if it was spiced to Jaskier’s taste.

More dancing. Jaskier didn’t stand, at first, assuming that Geralt would rather sit and drink more. There were some snickers as people judged him. Geralt stood though, and he offered a hand and led Jaskier to the dance floor.

“You need to act drunk,” Jaskier whispered in his ear. “If you were a normal man you would be.”

“I am acting,” Geralt rumbled.

“You’re very steady for a drunk,” Jaskier sniffed.

“You said I was shy, now I’m less shy,” Geralt whispered. “And I’ve been drinking. So…drunk.” It was torture, being held like this, having that voice in Jaskier’s ear. That hand, so warm cupping his own. He wanted to cry.

A couple whirled past them. It was the Dame Au’Vigne, gossiping to some new dance partner. A snippet of her words caught them.

“-de Lettenhove. Entirely loveless of course. Unlovable, his father said once, of course as a bard-” then the tide of conversation and other dancers stole the rest of the words.

Jaskier sagged. His father hadn’t been a nice man, and unlovable wasn’t the worst of what he’d been called in his life, but now, with Geralt so close and so disgusted by the prospect…well, it hit a little close to home. 

“Laugh,” Geralt whispered in his ear.

“What?” Jaskier hissed.

“Like before, laugh like before, but…more so. Pretend I said a dirty joke.”

Jaskier did, heads turned as he pretended to laugh, half scandalized and half delighted at something Geralt said.

Geralt even chuckled along with him. Then his hand crept down Jaskier’s back to his hip. It wasn’t dirty. It was just so,so spine tinglingly close to dirty.

It was almost worse. If Geralt had gripped his ass that would have been bad, but this, Jaskier was left to speculate. He had a very active imagination. The couples next to them were giggling and tittering, scandalized, but not too much, at the pair.

They danced all three dances. During the second dance Geralt spun Jaskier out and then back in flashily, dipping him over one arm like a dainty maiden. Jaskier, who was no dainty maiden, knew the strength that elaborate dip must have taken and his head spun. The third dance was slow, and once again they simply held one another and turned in slow circles. Except Geralt pressed their cheeks together in a way that was so intimate that Jaskier finally gave in. Just tonight he had Geralt, all of him, his attention, his warmth. 

There was only so much a bard could take, and Jaskier gave in to the fantasy.

“I wonder how Yennefer is,” Geralt whispered. “And Ciri.”

It was like having cold water poured all over him. Jaskier’s fantasy shattered as soon as it had formed. Of course Geralt wasn’t enjoying this, of course his mind was elsewhere. He had a beautiful sorceress to think of, even if they weren’t sleeping together. Geralt and Yennefer and Ciri made the perfect, happy family. Where did Jaskier fit in to that?

He pulled back a little, already missing the warmth of Geralt’s cheek against his own. They finished the dance stiffly.

Back at the table, squished between Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, the main course was awful. Jaskier couldn’t judge it on the food, which he barely tasted. Dame Au’Vigne and the colonel, however, had apparently come to the conclusion that Geralt or, Ludomir, rather, was marrying Jaskier for the money and the sex. They tittered, loudly and drunkely, to those around, and Geralt leaned in.

“Surely we can leave after this course,” he whispered.

Desperate to be rid of the charade, Jaskier thought. To not have to be engaged to me. “Can’t,” he whispered. “Have to stay for dessert and more dancing, else it looks suspect.”

“Hmmm.” It was a displeased hum.

“And, there will be small talk, with dessert. You need to say something, people will think you’re mute.”

“You two twitter into one another’s ears all the time,” Dame Au’Vigne said loudly. She was fully drunk off the sherry and very loud. “But not one kiss,” she lowered her voice, as if trying to be discreet. It didn’t work. “Is it truly as loveless as they say? I know you aren’t waiting until marriage.”

As who say? Jaskier thought. The only person quite that invested seems to be you.

“Not loveless,” Jaskier said. It seemed weak even to his ears.

“Surely you’ll join the dancing again, then,” Dame Au’Vigne said. 

“No,” Jaskier said, fiddling with his napkin. “I’m feeling quite too full to dance, ate too fast, I’m afraid.” He hoped she was too drunk to notice he’d picked at his plate. It seemed she was.

“Lovely little veranda, get some air there,” said a man who, according to Dame Au’Vigne, was shipping weapons to Nilfgaard behind the backs of multiple heads of state.

Jaskier nodded,stood, bowed, and made his escape. He sighed, but wasn’t surprised to find that Geralt had followed along behind. Of course he wanted to escape the party too, but Jaskier wanted to escape…him.

To his shame and surprise, he found tears in his eyes. The pressure of sitting in a room chock full of people who wanted to kill him, combined with the fact that every last one of them reminded him of being bullied in school, and add to that that he was supposed to be fake engaged to Geralt…it was too much. Fake engaged and even in their fake engagement Geralt didn’t like Jaskier. 

Jaskier’s rational brain knew that Geralt did like him, mostly. He just didn’t love him.

Jaskier leaned his elbows on the railing, overlooking some moonlit gardens, and felt the tears roll down his face.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said quietly.

“Yes,” Jaskier said. He knew Geralt could smell the salt of his tears or whatever, but still turned his face away so the witcher couldn’t see.

“I danced with you though.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “Nobles dance with people they hate all the time.”

Geralt was quiet for a minute then, very gently, he took one of Jaskier’s hands. “I don’t hate you.”

It was too much, Jaskier started crying in earnest, sobbing.

“C’mon, Jaskier, I like you. A lot.” Geralt was, for him, panicking clearly. Jaskier almost smiled. He was so bad at dealing with other people’s emotion. And his own.

“You’re my friend,” Geralt said, a little stuntedly. “You know I’m not a good liar.”

Too much. Twenty-two years and he finally said the word ‘friends’ and Jaskier wanted more. He whipped around to face Geralt.

“Tell me the truth, then, Geralt. Tell me you love me, it doesn’t have to be the truth for forever, but can you love me just for a night? Can you make it the truth for tonight?” Jaskier’s tears were ugly and blobby and drying up fast but he continued.

“Because I’ve loved you so long I don’t know any other truth,” He leaned forward and planted his forhead on Geralt’s collarbone and sniffled through the last of his tears, curling one, shaking fist into Geralt’s lovely pale cape as he cried. “Just this one night, Geralt, love me back.”

He hadn’t meant to say any of it, was half expecting Geralt to toss him off the low balcony into the bushes below. 

Instead Jaskier was lifted by two strong arms and sat down on the railing. Warm, delightful lips pressed against his and suddenly he was being kissed within an inch of his life. 

“The truth, you want,” Geralt said, pulling back and panting. “Is the only one I can give. I can’t pretend to love you.” Here Geralt looked into Jaskier’s eyes, like being struck by lightning. “I only love you, no pretending, I swear it.”

“But-” Jaskier was cut off.

“They think I don’t like you,” Geralt said, furiously. “I think you think I don’t like you, Jaskier I like you, I love you so much I don’t know what to do and I’m…I’m not good with words. Or emotions.” Geralt’s shoulders dropped a little. “I just am, and the way I am is… The way I am is better with you.” 

Geralt’s face screwed up with anguish. “And I’m the reason you think I don’t like you, it’s my fault and that feels so…so bad. Yennefer’s been working with me on the feelings thing and always says ‘bad isn’t a feeling’ but I can’t tell you what all the feeling is.”

Jaskier was staring, mouth open, as frustrated, stilted, fumbling words left Geralt’s mouth. They sounded angry, but only at himself. Geralt was looking up at him as if seeking benediction.

“Tell me you love me again,” Jaskier said.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Jaskier giggled as Geralt lifted him and spun him around before tucking him in close and kissing his forehead.

“I,” he said.

A kiss to Jaskier’s nose. “Love.”

A deep, breathtaking kiss to his lips. “You.”

There was nothing left for Jaskier to say except, “wow.”

Geralt smiled, that lovely warm little smile he saved for special times and offered his arm to Jaskier. “Shall we?”

They paraded back into the ballroom and danced the final dance of the set. Geralt whispered a suggestion of what he’d really like for dessert and this time Jaskier didn’t have to fake the scandalized giggle. “Back home, perhaps,” he said.

Dessert meant more conversation with Dame Au’Vigne, which was of course unbearable. There was plenty of Champagne though, which was pretty good, and the bubbles seemed to fill Jaskier all the way up. He took pleasure in picturing the downfall of all these horrible people when Nilfgaard was finally defeated for good.

He especially enjoyed sticking it to her gossip when he fed Geralt a strawberry with cream from his fingertips and recieved a kiss in thanks. Geralt was clearly enjoying himself too. He had a sweet tooth, and that certainly helped, but his hand that never left Jaskier’s under the table was a much better clue.

They walked back to the inn, flushed and warm in the cool night air, bidding farewell to the other drunken lords and ladies all filtering to finer inns or grand coaches. 

Then they were alone on their path back, Geralt’s witcher senses confirming their isolation. Then, Geralt, who never told lies, whispered sweet nothings into Jaskier’s ear the entire way home. Jaskier believed every single one.


	27. Geralt Thinks They're Already Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr asked  
> "oh!! for a prompt maybe geraskier where one thinks that they're dating and the other is oblivious and pining? :0 n hopefully geralt being the one thinking theyre dating :D"

Geralt was utterly horrified to discover, when he woke slightly in the night, that Jaskier was crying. He was tucked into Geralt’s chest, still bare to the waist after their bedtime…activities. And he was sniffling.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, voice still gruff from sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Panic overtook Geralt. “Did I hurt you while we were, um, you know?”

“No,” Jaskier sniffled, “No it was lovely,I just can’t keep doing this.”

Geralt’s heart sank. “You want to break up,” he said numbly. They’d only been dating three weeks.

“Can’t break up if you were never together,” Jaskier said bitterly, sitting up on their shared bedroll.

“What do you mean, not together,” Geralt said, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s shoulders to protect him against the chill.

“I mean we’re just hooking up!” Jaskier exploded, although he didn’t push Geralt’s arms away. “We live our normal lives and nothing’s changed except night times when we… when we fuck Geralt. I can’t keep doing this, not when I know you’ll go right back to Yennefer the second she appears.” He began to cry, big, silent sobs that made Geralt’s chest ache in sympathy. “I’m sorry Geralt, I just can’t.”

“You think I would cheat on you?” Geralt said. “I broke it off with Yen.”

“Yes but you always say that and then you always go back,” Jaskier said, muffled into his elbow as he sniffled.

“No, I really did. Because we aren’t just hooking up, you and I, I mean,” Geralt said slowly so that there could be no mistake. “We’re dating. For three weeks now.”

“We’re what?” Jaskier said, looking up with red rimmed eyes, not yet daring to be hopeful. 

“Dating,” Geralt said. I bought you that dagger and told you I want you safe all the time and–”

“And you never actually said dating, you oaf,” Jaskier said, chuckling and wiping tears away. “You actually forgot to ask me to date you and we skipped straight to the kissing.”

Geralt rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you knew…”

Jaskier laughed through his tears and threw his arms around Geralt’s neck, tipping him back onto the bedroll. “No,” he said. “Oh you idiot.” He kissed Geralt. “You asshole.” Another kiss. “You absolute bastard.” A long kiss. “If only you’d said I would have been saved all that heartbreak.”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said, curling his arms around Jaskier and bringing him close. “I hope I can make it up to you…?”

Jaskier giggled, peppering kisses about Geralt’s nose, cheeks, and foreheads. “I think I can figure something out.”


	28. Elsa! Jaskier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> random-shit-writing on Tumblr asked  
> "prompt: Jaskier with Elsa powers, Elsa-like Jaskier"

“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands!”

“Fine, see you around then, Geralt,” Jaskier said, turning away. He took a couple steps then shook his head. 

“You know what? No.” He turned back. “Not ‘see you around Geralt’. You’re a dick, okay? A real pillock. Twenty years of friendship and that’s how you treat me? I don’t bloody think so.”

“Jaskier?” Geralt said. The tips of Jaskier’s hair was turning white with frost.

“No, for Melitele’s sake, Geralt. And they say I have a frozen heart!” Jaskier fumed. He pulled off his gloves. “You want your blessing? Fine. Have it.” Jaskier dropped his fine, dark blue gloves at Geralt’s feet. 

The top of the mountain, rather arid, was suddenly freezing cold and Jaskier’s hair was ice white. Wind swirled and Geralt left hurriedly.

He’d messed up. He was no longer welcome and apparently Jaskier was descended from ice giants. 

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Of all the damn things…

By the time he got to the bottom of the mountain though, it looked like midwinter. 

“Got to stop this, witcher,” said the innkeeper. “Can’t have winter in autumn, it’s only early. Not right.”

“I…” Geralt said. It might be might fault. He’d hurt Jaskier so badly that his –the bard had tipped the land into winter two months too early. He couldn’t say that, though, so he said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Roach, with a horse blanket, and Geralt with a cloak and gloves, rode back up the mountain. What worried him was that there were other tracks in the snow going upward. How many people had been sent to fix the sudden winter? 

It took Geralt three days, to get up the mountain, but he wouldn’t risk the shortcut, not with ice, and Roach couldn’t travel that path. He wished he hadn’t taken so long when he made it to the top.

There was an ice castle.

A fucking ice castle. In front of it were figures in black, brandishing swords. Geralt leapt from roach, drawing his steel sword while he ran. 

Jaskier, in a new and very sparkly outfit, was knelt on the ground, blood running from a shallow cut on his arm as his agressors advanced. Geralt pushed through, standing in front of Jaskier.

One dumb bastard was idiotic enough to try it. He made an attempt to slip past Geralt’s guard to stab Jaskier with a sword. Geralt’s had more reach and the man fell to the ground. 

“He’s not a monster,” Geralt said. “Nor is he a threat. Leave.” Geralt growled.

“But the winter–” said a figure staying well back from the reach of Geralt’s sword.

“Let me make it clear, he is not a threat, I am.”

The attackers fled. 

Geralt scooped Jaskier up in his arms and knelt on the smooth ice floor of the castle. The scratch on his arm had been all Geralt noticed, but there was blood in his hair. Geralt took a handful of the snow and used it to carefully wash the head wound. 

To his relief it wasn’t bad. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, looking up at him. He was relieved to see his bard’s eyes so clear. The headwound wasn’t bad but they could still be tricky.

“I’m…I’m sorry Jaskier,” Geralt wanted to pull the words out but they refused to come. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. I didn’t mean to hurt you so bad that you unleashed ancient magical powers. I wish you’d told me.

“Did you think,” Geralt managed. “That I would hurt you? If I knew?”

“Knew?”

Geralt gestured at the palace around them. 

“No, never, but I didn’t bring it up and then it never came up and then it felt too late to say something and, if I’m honest, most of the time I forget.”

“Forget?”

“I don’t want magic. Chaos doesn’t interest me, I just want to be a bard, no ice, no power, just me.”

“I like just you,” Geralt said.

“I hurt you too,” Jasier whispered, sitting up. He reached out and took a strand of Geralt’s hair. It was pure white like all the rest, but frostier, more brittle, like it was made of ice. 

Jaskier, oddly, leaned in and pressed a kiss to the strand of hair laying in his palm. It turned back to normal. This was well and truly out of Geralt’s depth.

“What…?”

“I just needed to remind your heart that it isn’t frozen,” Jaskier said. “And mine.” 

“Oh….”Geralt said. A little ways down the mountain, as the ice castle was melting behind them and the snow dissappeared, Geralt said, “Would that have worked if you’d kissed my lips?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Maybe, maybe you should do that…just to be sure?”

Jaskier made sure. Then he pulled away, smiled at Geralt, and then made doubly sure.


	29. Reverse Fake Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "(For next time you’re looking for prompts) I really like your writing, and when I thought of this I wondered what you’d do with it: Geralt and Jaskier are together, but agree to pretend not to be for their next stop. Maybe one of them wants to win an old bet, or Jaskier’s not 100% sure his betrothal to a local noble has been officially dissolved, whatever, (not homophobia), fluff and high jinx ensue. Anyway I hope something unexpectedly nice happens to you today."
> 
> Request from Dahliavandare on Tumblr

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ran away from me, tons of backstory about Jaskier’s family. Just, way too much.

“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier said hesitantly. “I have an errand we need to run, and I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

Geralt hummed noncommittally. They were resting at their camp outside of Hagge and the warm summer air and the feeling of Jaskier curled against him had lulled him into a warm, fuzzy stupor.

“You see,” Jaskier continued, fiddling with the buttons at his cuffs. “I’m a noble, and you know that of course.” He laughed awkwardly. “And I’ve been lucky enough to pawn most of those responsibilities off onto my much savvier sister, but there are certain niceties that landed families observe that--”

“Spit it out,” Geralt grumbled, although not bad naturedly. 

“I’m betrothed,” Jaskier said. “And we need to go to Gwendeith to break it off.”

Geralt turned to look at his beloved. “You’re engaged?”

“Betrothed!” Jaskier yelped, then saw Geralt’s expression. “Oh, dear heart, there’s a slight difference in meaning, especially to nobles. Engaged implies an intent to marry--”

“And betrothed doesn’t?”

“Well, sort of, but I’ve been _betrothed_ practically since I was born, _engaged_ would imply I’m sort of planning the wedding. It’s a contract, a social contract. My family and my betrothed’s are pretty minor nobles, so really it’s just a way of saying ‘maybe someday our kids could marry’. It isn’t the hard and fast marriage it might be if I were, say, a prince.”

“Then why do it?” Geralt asked. Most of the time he was happy to understand as little of the lives of the gentry as possible, but Jaskier was _important_.

“Honestly,” Jaskier sighed. “I think Papa arranged it because he cared for me, Mama too.”

“It takes away your choice,” Geralt began.

“It doesn’t. A betrothal like mine and... Iliana, that’s her name, only met her twice, it’s sort of social insurance. Especially for her, but for me as well. Nobles are supposed to marry, so, if at some point neither of us had found love we could marry one another. For Iliana there’s the security of having a husband, although from what I’ve heard she can handle herself fine, and for me its assurance of heirs if that sort of thing concerned me, and companionship for us both.”

It sounded...mostly sort of logical to Geralt.

“But I love you,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t want to be betrothed to anyone because I love you and, someday, whenever you get over you allergy to the concept of commitment, I’m going to put a ring on you.”

Geralt hummed gruffly but said nothing. There was a slim golden band hidden away in his bags and he be damned if Jaskier got to propose first.

“I will. Anyway, I need to tell Iliana. I’m sure she won’t mind. I met her once when I was seven and again when I was nineteen.”

“Nineteen, when?” Geralt asked. Most of Jaskier’s nineteenth year had been spent at Geralt’s side. Most of every year after that too.

“Just before I met you. I had travelled east to meet her originally, and was going back west when we met.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Illiana? Oh, well, she told me that she was fine leaving the betrothal in place because it’s standard, but that she doesn’t care for men in that way so she’d never give me heirs and would have my balls nailed above her door if I ever told her she had to.”

“Sounds like she’d get along with Yen.”

“I fear they’d take over the world,” Jaskier said. “Anyway, I told her no worries since, honestly, heirs just aren’t important to me. Then we agreed that when either of us found love we’d break the betrothal and that would be that.”

“Hmmm.”

“No, Geralt, tell me what that means. Is that a ‘okay, let’s go to Gwendeith’ hum? A ‘I’m angry that you’re betrothed’ hum?”

Geralt shifted to poke the fire. “It’s a ‘I think there’s more you need to tell me’ hum.”

“Ah,” Jaskier rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s the thing. We have to go in person because a letter would be rude, but also...we have to pretend not to be together, while we’re in Gwedeith.”

“Why?”

“It’s politics, dear heart. It would be shaming to Iliana, socially. Personally, I don’t think she’d care, but it’s a courtesy thing.”

“I don’t do a lot of lovey stuff anyway,” Geralt said. 

“You think you don’t,” Jaskier said. He began to unroll their bedroll.

“What do you mean, Jaskier?”

Jaskier turned to him, smiling indulgently and gilded in the firelight. “Our lives have molded around one another, my love. When I stand beside you your hand goes to my back or my shoulder. You order dinner for me because you know just what food I like. When I’m tired you don’t have to ask what’s wrong, you just lift me onto Roach behind you.”

Geralt hadn’t even realized he did, but he knew it was true. Jaskier leaned over and pressed a kiss to Geralt’s slightly furrowed brow.

“When my boots are wearing thin you buy me new ones before I even notice. When I’m cold you give me your cloak. If I fall asleep with my head on your shoulder you’d rather sit like that all night than disturb me.”

Geralt shrugged awkwardly. “You buy me beeswax,” he said. It seemed a fair retort. Jaskier bought him beeswax to put in his ears when cities or sometimes monsters were too loud for Geralt’s senses. “You only buy light scents, even though I know you like bolder perfumes.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, taking one of Geralt’s large, scarred hands. “We love eachother very much, and it’s obvious to people who care to look.”

“That could be dangerous,” Geralt began, his head spiralling towards worry for Jaskier’s safety, but Jaskier cut him off.

“No, dear heart. It’s obvious to those who care to look. The sort of people who would hurt me for loving you, well, most of them think you can’t love, so they don’t look for love, and they don’t see.” 

Geralt sat back. People saw what they expected to see, it was true. 

“We’ll travel to Gwendeith,” he said. “And unbetroth you.”

Jaskier kissed him and his lips tasted like the jerky they’d eaten for supper.

\-- -- -- -- -- --

The trip to Gwendeith was long. It was at the very edge of any map, past Posada to the east, tucked into the Blue mountains. They traveled along the Dyfne river, taking the occasional contract but making good time. This far from anything, there were few people to be troubled by monsters. 

They stopped in Posada one night, eating dinner in the corner of a familiar tavern. This time, however, Jaskier was much better received and the bread ended up on the table rather than down his trousers.

Past Posada, and almost to the end of the Dyfne river, Geralt asked, “Why did your parents pick Iliana? How did they know of her?” Lettenhove was entirely the other side of the continent, a tiny island off the coast of Poviss with two villages and a couple flocks of sheep. 

Geralt only knew of it from Jaskier’s descriptions, which were mostly stories of the ice cold sea and rocky cliffs. He tended toward calling it ‘idyllic’ and ‘picturesque’ altough occassionally ‘the arse end of the world’ and ‘colder than an ice giant’s ballsack.’ The first time Geralt had taken Jaskier to Kaer Morhen he’d feared for his bard’s safety in the cold of the mountains, but Jaskier hadn’t even blinked an eye, merely bundling up in a hugely wooly cloak and mittens. 

“Ah, well,” Jaskier said. “Long story, but Papa was in Temeria, see, since nothing ever happens in Lettenhove, because we have more people than sheep, he get’s sent on diplomatic missions a lot. He’s good at it, and he can be spared. He loves it too, even though he’s sort of retired he still does them. Takes Ma, calls the trips his little “sunshine vacations”. 

“You get your personality from your father, then?” Geralt asked. Jaskier didn’t talk about his family much, and Geralt got the sense that, rather than this being because they were horrible, Jaskier simply missed them too much. 

“Definitely. Ma’s lovely, and brilliant with just everything to do with her hands, but she’s not good with people. I got her looks, though.”

“I should thank her, then,” Geralt said, smiling. 

Jaskier chuckled. “Yes, she’s the reason for the long lives, too, fantastic story.”

“Finish the one about your father and Gwendeith first.”

“Right, so Papa was in Temeria, and so was Iliana’s father, sort of the mayor of Gwendeith, as I understand, although not back then. He’d gotten robbed, though, and Papa had won a horse and quite a lot of gold in a card game. It might have been Gwent, I can’t remember. If you ever meet Papa you should ask him. Anyway, he gave the extra horse and gold to Iliana’s father.”

“So your betrothal was a debt?”

“Goodness, no. This was years before I was born, Papa hadn’t even met Ma yet. No, they struck up a friendship, because when Iliana’s father got home he had a mage send a message to Papa to thank him and they struck up a friendship.”

“Sending messages by mage? That’s expensive for a penpal.”

“Ah well, that actually ties in to the story about Ma. Ma’s got magic, just a little, she’s a hedge witch of a sort. The issue is, hedge witches mostly use plants, and Ma couldn’t grow grass, so she mostly works with wood. Anyway, she has a friend, her very best friend, is a mage. They grew up together, and my Auntie Szarlotta sent my Papa’s first few messages back to Iliana’s father.”

Geralt smiled atop Roach. Jaskier’s storytelling pace was as familiar as Roach’s saddle, and it was calming in a way. 

“So, Auntie was sending Papa’s message when Ma came in to visit. That’s how she met Papa, because she’d only just moved to Lettenhove. Auntie says it was love at first sight, but Papa insists that Ma turned up her nose and ignored him for months.”

“Which one is it?”

“Knowing Ma, probably both. She’s a little like you, so the second she realized she liked Papa she ignored him so she wouldn’t have to deal with it.”

Geralt huffed good-naturedly.

“Anyway, Auntie Szarlotta agreed to send Papa’s messages for free, and she even included a way for Iliana’s father to send them back, so long as he wrote his response on the back of the same paper. She always timed it though, so that Ma was over when Papa was there. And I guess the rest is history.”

“Except the immortality.”

“Right, well, Ma got really sick when she was pregnant with my sister, I was little so I barely remember but Papa was so worried, and Ma looked really pale. Well, Auntie got really worried, freaked out a little, and she found all these old spells to try to make Ma well again. I remeber the light, she was working in a room of the old lighthouse and I could see the light of her spells from my window. Anyway, eventually she tries some on Ma, but they don’t work, and she just keeps trying.”

Geralt had an image of a frantic sorceress being watched by a young Jaskier through a crack in a door. 

“But I suppose some of those old spells need a little time to work because nothing at all worked and then they all sort of worked at once. There was this big, bright light and then Ma was well, and she and Papa haven’t aged a day since then.”

Geralt glanced at his lover, who looked the same at fifty as he had at twenty. “And you don’t age? What about your sister?”

“Ksenia hasn’t aged either. She looks like Papa, just so you know, grey eyes, blonde hair. She’s got two kids, now, but I haven’t met them.”

“Do the kids age?”

“Right now they’re very young,” Jaskier said. “I didn’t stop aging until nineteen or twenty, so I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“How do you know she has kids?”

“Oh, well, Auntie Szarlotta sends letters to me, but we travel and it’s hard to send them right to me, so I just pick them up at Oxenfurt.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt said. He needed to go to Lettenhove. Jaskier had met his sort-of-family, he should meet Jaskier’s. 

“I’d love to go see them...” Jaskier said, wistfully. 

“Who?”

“My niece and nephew, they’re almost two and three years old now.”

Geralt picked Jaskier up by the collar of his doublet and placed him onto the back of Roach. 

“We’ll spend the winter in Lettenhove this year,” he said as Jaskier wrapped his arms around Geralt’s waist.

“Really?”

“Hmmm.”

Geralt needed to ask Jaskier’s father for his hand in marriage, anyway.

\-- -- -- -- -- -- 

They made it to Gwendeith just after mid summer, riding into the little town at noon. Despite the season, the little mountain valley was shaded and cool. Jaskier shivered slightly and Geralt had to resist the urge to pull his cloak from his pack. From that point forth, they weren’t supposed to be in love.

Fuck.

They had to request a meeting with the mayor, which didn’t surprise Geralt. In a town such as this, logging and mining were the main industries. Trading for food to last over the winter began early and was of the utmost importance. That left Geralt and Jaskier, unfortunately, sitting with a man who introduced himself as Sir Boris.

Apparently he was a retired knight who acted as a sort of captain of the guard, except there wasn’t much of a guard. His wife Lady Olenka joined them and the two of them talked about their grandchildren until Geralt could feel his eyes rolling back in his head. 

At any other time, Jaskier would have placed one gentle hand on his wrist, which would have fortified Geralt, but they couldn’t. 

“But you’re here for Iliana,” Sir Boris was saying. “Dreadfully sorry you can’t see her today, I’m afraid there’s been an issue with the lumber trade to sort out. You’ll just have to have my darling Lenka and I as company until that’s done.”

He sent a huge wink to his wife, a slim, elegant woman, who chuckled and playfully hit him on the shoulder, to which Sir Boris pretended to be wounded before throwing back his head and laughing hugely. Everything the old knight did was huge, he was a large man with a round, red face and large belly and a laugh that could shake walls. 

“It’s no trouble,” Jaskier said. “I’m sure preparing for winter is a year round project here.”

“Oh of course,” Lady Olenka said. “But once it’s here we can all relax, and spend time with family.” She leaned forward as if imparting a delightful secret and said in a stage-whisper, “Boris has been our town’s Father Winter for the last four years.”

Jaskier made impressed ‘ooh’ noises and Geralt tried to at least look like he understood that. 

Boris laughed again. “It’s this lot,” he said, slapping his round stomach. “Better than some old geezer with a pillow down his shirt, eh?”

Geralt hummed in agreement. 

“And you must make a lovely Mother Winter, Lady Olenka,” Jaskier said politely.

She smiled, lines crinkling around her eyes as if drawing a road map. “It’s not as important as Father Winter, of course, but I rather pride myself that I plan a very good Midwinter festival.” Geralt got the sense that behind the modesty she was quite proud, and, he suspected, with good reason.

“But, you must tell me,” she said, modestly changing the subject. “Is there to be a missus Pankratz, now that you’ve come to see Lady Iliana?”

“I am a man in love,” Jaskier said. “And I am hopeful that an engagement will come soon, yes.”

“Oh dearie that’s just lovely,” Lady Olenka said, patting Jaskier’s cheek. “And you’re such a nice boy too, little young looking to be betrothed to our Lady Iliana anyway, although she’s a very dear woman.”

“We just love her,” Sir Boris said. “She’s a great mayor, not keen on marriage, but nobody minds, she just seems to have adopted the whole town as family.”

Lady Olenka patted her husband’s broad shoulder. “It was smart of you not to bring your love here, though. There’s some nobles here from Lyria, that’s who she’s been trading with, and I think they’d like any excuse to disparage here.” She lowered her voice again. “You know how those lot are about having women in charge.”

“I can’t relate,” Sir Boris laughed. “Lenka’s the ruler in our house.” That got a laugh because it had to, and because Sir Boris’s laugh was surprisingly infectious. 

“Good on you bringing a bodyguard too,” he said once the laughter had abated. He slapped Geralt companionably on the back, which was like being hit by a friendly battering ram. “Witcher too, don’t get many up here, but I bet you’re the safest man in a hundred miles.”

“Oh, dear, don’t you know?” Lady Olenka said. “Lord Julian here is a bard as well, he goes by Jaskier and sings all about witchers.”

“Really?” Sir Boris said, looking at Jaskier. “Blimey, imagine that. Good on you, finding a niche in the market.”

Geralt’s ears were beginning to ache. Friendly though Sir Boris might be, he didn’t seem to have a volume level below ‘deafening’. He was tired and overwrought and he just wanted to cuddle up with Jaskier in a bed. It wasn’t even suppertime, though.

They sat through another hour of hearing about Boris and Olenka’s eighteen grandchildren. 

“And three great-grandchildren,” Boris added proudly.

Geralt was thankful Jaskier could carry the conversation. He longed for a kiss, though. Now that he knew he couldn’t have one, his lips fairly ached for one.

Supper was a large affair, with one of Boris and Olenka’s children’s family over for dinner as well. Geralt was seated across from Jaskier between two small children who, apparently, needed to be separated at dinertimes to prevent bickering. They contented themselves instead by asking Geralt every question they could think of, often making him wrack his brain for child appropriate answers.

It wasn’t just witchering questions, either. He answered such questions as “Why is the sky blue?” (Because it’s Melitele’s favorite color). Immediately before answering “How big are dragon scales?” (The small ones are like pebbles and the big ones are like shields.)

Jaskier smiled at him over his bowl of stew, eyes sparkling. Geralt loved children, and Jaskier loved seeing them adore Geralt.

“So, Lord Julian,” Boris and Olenka’s daughter began. “Your lady love, tell us about her?” She smiled Lady Olenka’s warm smile and Jaskier did a good show of seeming bashful. 

“My love is unlike any other,” he began. “And if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m a poet, and so must wax poetic.”

“Wouldn’t settle for anything less, lad!” Boris bellowed cheefully.

“My darling has fair hair, like moonlight,” Jaskier said, and the table oohed appreciatively. Geralt felt his ears get hot.

“And eyes like summer,” the bard continued. “I could get lost in them. No eyes could compare.” Geralt kicked him under the table, but Olenka was sighing sympathetically.

“But of course,” Jaskier said slyly, my heart is best held by my love’s lips.”

Boris chuckled knowingly. “I’ll bet it is, my boy,” he said, winking. Olenka slapped his arm, but she was smiling. Geralt felt hot.

“I’m afraid, however that my lover is quite modest, and won’t appreciate me extolling too many virtues,” Jaskier finished. “So I must finish with, I love them very much, and it is for them alone that my heart beats.”

Therewith leaving every person at the table (those above the age of twelve, at least) with misty eyes, Jaskier helped Lady Olenka clean up supper. Geralt helped put the dishes away.

After dinner they were led back to the mayor’s house. “I’m afraid the negotiations don’t seem to be finished,” Lady Olenka said. “I had hoped they would be quick, but it seems not. If the issue wasn’t resolved today, I wouldn’t bet on them being resolved too early tomorrow, either. You two don’t have pressing business elsewhere?”

“No, my lady,” Jaskier said, although if they lingered too long they wouldn’t make it to Lettenhove for the winter, as it was, it would be close.

“I’m sure she’ll be able to see you soon,” the lady said. “Here’s your room, and Master Witcher, your room is just at the far end of the hall.”

She said goodnight and Geralt hoped she couldn’t see the slump of his shoulders.

Separate rooms.

Jaskier smiled ruefully at him and they parted for the night. Geralt’s bed was large and comfortable, with clean linens and feather pillows, but he barely got a wink of sleep.

\-- -- -- -- -- --

The next morning found Jaskier and Geralt breakfasting in the tavern, owned, apparently, by another of Boris and Olenka’s grown children.

“Did you sleep well?” Jaskier whispered over a plate of sausage and eggs.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted.

“I couldn’t sleep a wink,” Jaskier said. “Want my last piece of bacon? I’m stuffed.”

Geralt took it gratefully, slipping Jaskier his fried slice as a trade. No matter how Jaskier protested that he was stuffed, he always had room for a fried slice.”

“Terrible woman,” said a nasal voice at the next table. “Just impossible to do business with.”

“I agree, overemotional, you know how they get,” agreed another voice. Jaskier made eye contact with Geralt. The accent was Lyrian.

“Not even married,” said the first speaker. “What a disgrace. If my daughter got to her age without children I’d just die of shame.”

Geralt pitied his daughter.

“Oh of course,” said the second man. “Attractive, though, for an old maid.”

The first man snickered cruelly. “Thinking a little wooing might soften her up?”

“It always does, women like that, they’re just angry because they haven’t found a man.”

“Won’t your wife mind?”

“Are you going to tell her?” Both men laughed unpleasantly.

A serving girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, came around the tables, presumably one of Sir Boris’ many granddaughters. She took their plates onto a tray and smiled when Jaskier slipped a few coins onto the tray as a tip.

At the next table one of the Lyrian’s snapped their fingers impatiently. The girl rolled her eyes. Geralt was pleased to see that, although she served him professionally, as she walked away she ‘accidentally’ tread on his foot.

“What pathetic pieces of shit, the pair of them,” Jaskier said as they stepped out into the sunlight. 

“Hmmm,” Geralt agreed. Then he looked around quickly and pulled Jaskier into an alleyway, urging the bard deeper into the shadows. 

“What? Geralt di-”

Geralt smushed his lips gracelessly to Jaskier’s, crowding him up against the wall. Jaskier’s hair between his fingers was so familiar and comforting, as was the little sigh Jaskier let out.

They pulled apart and Geralt rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “That’ll tide me over for a while,” he whispered. Jaskier smiled.

“Are you master Julian?”

The pair sprang apart, looking in alarm at the red headed boy at the far end of the alley. 

“Yes...?” Jaskier said.

“Only, Pa said to come find you, and he said you’d be with a big man dressed all in black.”

“And you found us here?” Jaskier asked.

“Didn’t know you’d be here, did I?” Said the boy, stuffing his hands into his trouser pockets. “It’s the shortcut through to the tavern, but then, I figured he’s the only big man in black around.”

Geralt inclined his head, feeling his ears go hot.

“Lady Iliana has time to see you now,” the boy continued, oblivious to the awkwardness. 

“By all means...lead the way,” said Jaskier.

They were led out of the alley and back to the mayor’s house by the messenger boy.

“Out of curiosity,” Jaskier asked. “Is your grandad Sir Boris?” 

“Yeah, that’s him,” said the lad. “He made me a toy sword for my tenth birthday too.” He pointed proudly to the wooden sword tied at his hip with some string.

“It makes you look a proper hero,” Jaskier said. Then he pulled out his coin purse. “A copper for bringing us the message and...another to not tell anyone what you saw.”

The boy looked between the two of them shrewdly.

“Not even my best friend? I tell Mikhail everything.”

“Not until Geralt and I have left.”

“Three coppers total,” the boy said promptly. Jaskier handed them over good naturedly and the boy flashed a gap toothed grin before taking off.

Geralt and Jaskier shrugged at each other, before finding their way to the main room of the mayor’s house. A broad shouldered woman of about fifty poked her head out of a door.

“Julian?”

Geralt and Jaskier went inside.

“You look well,” Iliana said, sitting behind a large desk and gesturing to a couple chairs. “You havent’ aged a day.”

“And you look as lovely as I remember,” Jaskier said.

“Flirt. Come to ask me for heirs?”

Jaskier shuddered. “No, my lady. I remember your threat well. I think you know why I’m here.”

The two Lyrians barged through the door. 

“Did I ask you to enter?” Iliana said, coldly. Geralt felt an unusual curl of fear set up in his stomach, she was a distinctly fearsome woman.

“Well,” said the first Lyrian.

“You were so beautiful, I couldn’t wait on seeing you again,” said the second, slimily.

“Oh I say!,” Iliana said, standing. She placed her hand over her chest in a delicately offended way, which was ill suited to her. “You sir are too bold, and in front of my betrothed too!”

The Lyrians looked, panicked, at the people sat in the chairs. As Geralt was seated in the chair nearest the door, and therefore nearest them, they came to the wrong conclusion. The blood drained from both their faces.

“What an insult!” Iliana continued. “You should be ashamed! What a lack of diplomacy!” 

Beside Geralt, Jaskier snickered. She was laying it on a little thick. 

“Why,” she continued. “I ought to write to your king! I’ve never been so insulted. And I’m sure my beloved will want to sort out this insult too.” She fluttered her lashes at Geralt. 

Geralt nearly jumped out of his seat, but thankfully his brain caught up. He stood, growling a little theatrically and placed one hand on the hilt of his steel sword.

“Our apologies my lady,” the first man said hurriedly.

“Our mistake, we’ll just--” they dissappeared out the door.

“What a fearsome couple,” Geralt heard whispered as the door swung shut.

Iliana sighed satisfactedly and kicked her feet up on her desk. “It seems I should thank you,” she said. “That is going to make negotiations much easier.”

“I’m sure you always get good deals,” Jaskier said.

“Yes. I get the deals _I_ want.”

“You know why I’m here,” Jaskier said.

“Yes.”

“Do you agree?”

“To disolve the betrothal? Of course. Never found a lover for myself so I never bothered but, well, I just don’t do romance.”

“Some people don’t,” Geralt said, thinking of Eskel.”

“Indeed,” Iliana said, smiling warmly at him. “Not all of us have a soulmate to sing us songs.” She laughed at their surprised faces. 

“Oh you fooled them, and you may have fooled Boris and Olenka, but I’ve heard your songs, Julian. It’s written right into everything you do.”

She began rummaging in one of the drawers in the desk. “I don’t mind, of course. So few people know we’re actually betrothed...there it is.” She pulled out an old piece of paper. “I’ll just rip it up if that’s fine by you. You’ll have to do the same to yours of course.”

“We’re going to Lettenhove this winter,” Jaskier said. “I’ll do it as soon as I find it.”

Iliana smiled again. “Father always did say that your dad had a horrible filing system.”

“He filed all his papers on the floor, yes, although I imagine my sister is neater.”

Iliana tore the paper in half without ceremony and placed the contract in the waste paper bin. “Lettenhove is very far away, Julian, will you get there in time?”

Jaskier glanced at Geralt. 

“I don’t know,” Geralt said.

“No matter,” said Iliana. She began writing something on a new sheet of paper. “Our logging teams float lumber all down the Dyfne and Pontar rivers. Show this to the dockmaster at the tip of the Dyfne and our riverboat captains can get you to Novigrad.” 

She pulled out another sheet of paper. “Once you’re in Novigrad, show this to the harbormaster and he’ll get you to Lettenhove.” She looked at their shocked faces and smiled. “Our lumber is the best, and it’s used in everything, including ships. I’m willing to cash in a favor in order to get rid of a useless betrothal.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Jaskier said bowing deeply. “I’ll have my Aunt Szarlotta send a message once our betrothal is fully extant.”

Iliana stood and shook his hand. “I’d appreciate that.”

“Our fathers were penpals,” Jaskier said. “Perhaps we should keep up the tradition?” 

The mayor inclined her head. “I’d like that. I may be too busy to write often.”

Jaskier waved a hand. “I can only pick up messages when I pass through Oxenfurt, but I like to make friends with powerful people.” 

The two of them shared a smile.

“Not to rush you out my door,” Iliana said. “But I do have a lot to do, winter comes early up here, and I know it does as well in Lettenhove. even with my help, you two should leave soon.”

Geralt and Jaskier left that afternoon, just after a hearty meal at the tavern.

\-- -- -- -- -- --

Across the continent and some weeks later, Jaskier and Geralt stepped onto the docks in Novigrad.

“I don’t think Roach liked the river boats,” Jaskier said as Geralt led her off. Roach whinnied and shook her mane emphatically.

“Sorry, girl,” Geralt said. “You’ll have another long boat journey, and this time I doubt we’ll stop so you can run about on land.”

“Nah,” Jaskier said, as they walked toward a tavern for supper. “Boats from Novigrad to Lettenhove stop around the coast on the way, she’ll get plenty of exercise. It’s something to do with the currents.”

He petted Roach’s muzzle softly as they stabled her at the inn beside the tavern and Geralt felt his heart go out to his bard. Jaskier cared so much for Roach. Geralt thought again of the gold band in his pack.

“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s eat.”

\-- -- -- -- -- --

Slightly more than a month later, after a slow, coastal boat journey, and then another between Inis Porhoest and Lettenhove, Geralt, Jaskier, and their faithful horse, stepped off the final boat.

“Welcome home, Master Julian,” said a fisherman on the dock.

“Does everyone here know you?” Geralt asked.

“Pretty much, there’s only about three hundred people here.”

News spread fast among three hundred people and Jaskier and Geralt were greeted enthusiastically at the door to the very small castle. A blonde woman who could only be Ksenia, Jaskier’s sister, flung her arms around him, and withing a moment Geralt was being gathered into the hug by a slightly older looking couple.

“Julek,” said the blonde man, pulling back. “My boy, you’re home, and you brought this stunning man, wow, what a looker.” 

“Papa, don’t be embarrassing,” Jaskier said. Geralt flushed clear to the roots of his hair. Apparently when Jaskier said he had his father’s personality he meant _all_ of his personality.

They had dinner as a family, including Jaskier’s niece and nephew, Cecylia and Prot. They had questions for Geralt, and he was grateful for the practice he’d had in Gwendeith. It was an enjoyable meal over all, and afterward Jaskier was distracted by his Aunt Szarlotta while Geralt slipped away to ask Mr. Pankratz a very important question.

The two of them returned to the main hall to see Jaskier pretending to be a dragon, while Cecylia and Prot bravely fought him with butterknives, but he straightened up when he saw the look on Geralt’s face.

Geralt took his hand and Jaskier squeezed it three times, it was their code, asking if Geralt needed to go somewhere that wasn’t so hard on his senses. Geralt smiled and shook his head, swallowing nervously around the lump in his throat.

He got down on one knee and pulled out the gold band. “I’m...I’m not good with words.” Geralt swallowed again, wishing he could borrow Jaskier’s eloquence for five minutes or so. “Marry me?”

The words were barely out from his mouth before Jaskier was tackling him to the ground, pressing kisses all over his face.

“Oh Geralt!” he said. “Wait--”

Jaskier looked up at his mother, who smiled and was handed a paper by his Aunt Szarlotta. Mrs. Pankratz ripped the betrothal contract in half.

“Yes,” Jaskier said, laughing. “I will marry you!”

Then they kissed on the chilly stone floor.

\-- -- -- -- -- --

> Dear Lady Iliana, Mayor of Gwendeith

> The former contract has been voided. 

> Szarlotta of Lettenhove

> _P.S. Geralt and Jaskier are engaged and send their love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy Cow. 5603 words. I...I don’t even know what to say. I hope you like it.


	30. Geralt learns about humans (Fae Jaskier is a little shit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dahliavandare on Tumblr said
> 
> "Prompt: Either out of embarrassment or being a little shit, Jaskier lies outrageously to Geralt about humans (on the level of “I’m molting” or “These? They’re rocks, to snack on.”) and might get away with it?"

“Jaskier,” Geralt growled.

“What?” The young bard yelped. “I wasn’t even singing that time.”

“No, you just--hmmm.”

“I just hmmm what?” Jaskier asked, pausing in his near-constant strumming.

“You smell like...hmm.”

“I smell?” Jaskier said, both hands planted on his hips. “That’s pretty rich coming from you, my friend--”

“Not friends.”

“You smell like a barn. Anyway-”

“No, Jaskier,” Geralt said, running one, gloved hand through his hair. “Witchers can sort of smell emotions, right?”

Jaskier looked up at him, a sudden hint of anxiety in his scent. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Not entirely.” Geralt shook his head as if clearing a thought from it. “We can’t smell complex things, but joy, fear, anger...desire.”

Jaskier, for once, didn’t look at Geralt, studying instead the flowers at the side of the road. “Desire?”

“I-yes.” Geralt said. “And I wanted to know if all humans smell like...”

“Desire?” Jaskier said, then began talking fast. “Oh yes, of course, most humans, especially my age, well, they smell like this all the time. All the time. Naturally.”

It sort of checked out, at least to Geralt’s thinking. Young humans were horny, and although the overriding scent when Geralt was around was fear, he remembered being a teenager, with all the baggage that entailed at Kaer Morhen, and yes, constantly horny was among those memories. Jaskier himself was definitely still young by human standards, perhaps twenty or so from his youthful features. 

Geralt chalked the horniness up to humanity and hormones and left it at that. 

\--- 

Later on, Geralt had other questions related to humanity, more specifically that part of humanity that included Jaskier. 

“I thought humans couldn’t eat those?” Geralt couldn’t, he’d eaten one during training on a dare and spent the next day with his head in the privy.

Jaskier looked down at the mushroom in his hand. It was a beautiful, bright red, with little white spots. He’d been snacking on similar ones for the last mile or so. 

“Of course we can,” he said. “Humans eat these all the time.” There was a rising tone in his voice that indicated something, but as Geralt had mentioned before, witchers couldn’t actually smell the more complicated emotions. 

“They, um,” Jaskier said. “They just can’t be eaten by humans during-er- during summer. It’s fall now, so it’s okay.”

Geralt shrugged. What did he know of human biology? He wouldn’t be eating another of them ever, at any time. His stomach lurched a little just at the thought.

\---

“You didn’t buy the ring.”

Jaskier looked up at Geralt, eyes bright in the sunshine. The bustle of the market around them pushed against him like a tide, but a little patch of space was left around Geralt. Jaskier stepped into the space. “The ring?”

“You liked it,” Geralt grunted. “I could tell.” It had been a little thing, cheaply made of poor materials, but the bard’s eyes had lit up upon seeing the little buttercup detailing, and he’d admired for several minutes, although without touching. 

Jaskier shrugged. “It was made of iron.”

“And?”

“Human’s can’t wear iron, Geralt.”

“Then why did the man sell it?” 

“Well _some_ humans can wear it of course, those with very tough skin, but I’m delicate.” Jaskier sniffed. 

“Humans...can’t wear iron?” It didn’t sound right.

“Not right up close to their skin,” Jaskier said. “It turns us, um, purple.”

Geralt shrugged it off. He’d once been called to a castle where a baron had believed himself cursed because his finger was turning green, but he’d simply been wearing a cheap brass ring.

\---

After the first winter they met again in the spring something was definitely different.

“Your freckles,” Geralt said.

“What about them?” Jaskier said, looking away.

What about them indeed. They glimmered like chips of mica. At first Geralt had thought it a trick of the light, but no, there was a definite glitter to Jaskier’s skin.

“They’re...shining?”

Jaskier cocked his head at Geralt, cheeks shimmering. “Geralt,” he said slowly. “You know humans shimmer in the spring...right?” 

Shimmer?

“I’d never noticed,” Geralt said. Admittedly he paid a little more attention to Jaskier than perhaps he ought, but still, one would think he’d have seen this before.

“It’s part of the growing process,” Jaskier said. 

\---

“Jaskier, your cheeks are red,” Geralt said, stepping out of the small bathtub the inkeeper had brought up. He stepped closer to the bard, still naked and dripping water, and pressed the back of his hand to Jaskier’s forehead.

“Nnhgh,” Jaskier said.

“Are you well?” Geralt asked, cupping Jaskier’s flushed face with his other hand. It didn’t _feel_ like he had a fever.

Jaskier pushed his hands away, face even redder than before.

“I’m perfectly fine, Geralt,” he said, higher pitched than usual. “Human faces get red for no reason now...put on some pants.”

\---

“Jaskier you’re drunk,” Geralt said. It was a pretty obvious statement, considering he had his bard draped over him like a shawl.

“Hehe, yep,” Jaskier said, reaching up with one, long finger and tracing Geralt’s jawline with it. 

“You didn’t have any alcohol, I’m sure of it.” Jaskier normally had an extremely high alcohol tolerance in any case.

“‘O course not,” Jaskier said, leaning even more fully into Geralt’s hold. “Had milk.”

“Milk can’t get people drunk.”

“Milk can’t get _witchers_ drunk,” Jaskier slurred. “Get’s humans drunk though, dunnit?”

“Can it?”

“Yeah, definitely, not the kids, but like, how often do you see, like adult humans drinkin’ milk?”

Not often, Geralt thought. He put Jaskier to bed in the inn and it was like pouring an octopus into a bucket. One loose yet gripping arm pulled Geralt closer to Jaskier, the bard leaned in and brushed soft lips to Geralt’s cheekbone.

Geralt wondered if it was another mystery of humans that the spot seemed to tingle all night and he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.

\---

Geralt clutched Jaskier as the bard fell to his knees, groaning. His face was sickly in it’s palor and he was trembling. He’d just lurched up from the table at the inn and stumbled to the door. Geralt had followed him and the young bard had just collapsed like this.

“Jaskier,” he said, clutching a chilled cheek, his other hand seeking one of Jaskier’s. “Jaskier what’s wrong.”

“Lemon,” Jaskier whispered, lacing shaking finger’s with Geralt’s. “In the fish, there was lemon.”

“Lemon’s fine, isn’t it?” Geralt asked, slow heart racing as he looked into eyes that were becoming glassy and clouded.

Jaskier shook his head and it seemed to exhaust him.

“’S fine for _humans._ ” He said. “Not fae.”

“Fae,” Geralt said, cradling his friend. “Jaskier you’re not making sense.” 

“Mmh,” Jaskier said, smiling sadly. His face changed, his eyes going glow bright and his ears lengthening a little. His skin took on a slightly green tint. 

Geralt looked into the face of his fae bard, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone and the shimmering freckles there. “How do I heal you, you have to tell me.”

Jaskier blinked slowly, eyes dimming further.

Geralt shook him, desperation taking over.

“Jaskier what heals a fairy?”

What heals a fairy? He’d learned that at some point hadn’t he? Long ago. They were rare, and most witchers never saw one in their whole lives but if you could help one they’d grant you one wish, not tricks. 

Poetry. 

Fuck.

“Jaskier,” Geralt rasped, throat feeling dry. Those beautiful eyes blinked at him, slowly. 

“I...I think you have pretty eyes,” Geralt said. “And I like when they, um, match the skies.”

Jaskier blinked at him in confusion, brow wrinkling slightly.

“You look pretty in blue,” Geralt managed, inventing wildly. “And look pretty in green. You look lovely in about every shade in between.”

Some of the deathly palor was fading from Jaskier’s face now and Geralt sought more words. “I thought you were pretty that day you wore purple,” he said. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, idiot he was an idiot, nothing rhymes with purple. 

“I like your spirit, your moxy, your...your yurple.”

Jaskier was indeed looking better now, and he was smiling.

“I like the way you talk to me, and how you’re always there,” Geralt whispered. “I like the way you hum to me when you help me brush my hair.”

Jaskier sat up slowly, blinking in the dim light.

“I like the way you give treats to Roach, um, and I like the way you smile,” Geralt gulped at the look on Jaskier’s face. “But most of all I like how much I love you, so I want you to promise to, uh, stay? For a while?”

“Oh Geralt,” Jaskier said, cupping his cheek. “That was bad.” Then he kissed him and Geralt’s brain went very very fuzzy.

A little later, in their room in the inn, where Geralt was finishing the fish and Jaskier was having stew avec no-lemon-at-all, he asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jaskier tilted his head thoughtfully as he chewed a piece of potato. “Well, at first I wasn’t sure how you’d take it,” he said. 

Geralt nodded. Fae were a feared and reverred group amongst humans, so caution was reasonable.

“Then it became a sort of game,” Jaskier said shrugging. “I couldn’t resist. So I left you little hints. I thought you’d figure it out for sure with the freckles or the milk.”

Geralt huffed a little sheepishly.

“I don’t care that you’re fae,” he said after a moment.

“I know,” Jaskier said. “And I don’t care that you’re an awful poet.”

“It worked, didn’t it.”

“It did, and now you get a wish, no tricks,” Jaskier held up his hand as if taking an oath. “I promise.”

Geralt thought for a moment. A wish from a fae was no small thing. It should be something powerful, something earth shattering and precious and rare.

“I wish you would kiss me again.”


End file.
